Fidelity
by Emochromatic
Summary: In peace talks following a recently concluded war, Nnoitra is offered up to the Kuchiki family as a personal servant to Prince Ulquiorra and a show of "goodwill." But his true mission to murder the royals is foiled when he is cursed. AU plotline, MxM
1. Phyrric Victory

**Fidelity**

He never expected to find himself on knee before the royal spawn of his enemy, violet eye fixed on the immaculate, black leather of his boots while the diplomats announced him, their words blurring in his ears. Never thought he, a proud, elite soldier of the Amistri kingdom, would tarry here among this cess of pacifists. Never believed he'd be traded away like a commodity to be a mere servant in a foreign monarchy, because he was too valuable for that. But then, he'd never expected to lose the war either.

"…and so, his royal highness Grimmjow Jaegerjacques offers up his second highest ranking officer as personal servant to the esteemed Kuchiki family as a gesture of goodwill and peace, that our two kingdoms may find balm from this bitter war and again coexist as neighbors."

Pretty words, they meant nothing, and he wasn't the only one to recognize it. Everyone knew, even the diplomats themselves. Especially they, those crafters of lies. Amistri was not a country to retreat cowed with its tail between its legs like a common cur. No, it would lick its wounds and bide its time until the moment was ripe, then again descend upon the rebellious country that had resisted its last assault unexpectedly. For a country of merchants and artisans with a small standing army, it had shown a surprising resilience. But theirs had been a phyrric victory, for in the process, the majority of their high ranked military figures had been slaughtered and their economy thrown into chaos. Amistri would have her day, he would see to that. It was why he had come.

"Nnoitra Jiruga, rise."

He rose, keeping the cynical sneer off his lips and met the eyes of the king of Mercia. Those cool, dispassionate eyes that regarded him as if he were some filthy creature dragged from the muck of an outhouse. How he despised those eyes, longed to take a heated rod to them and melt them from his skull and watch them pour down his regal cheeks like tears. He even suspected he wouldn't scream as he tortured him; the man gave off the air of a stoic.

"You are knowledgeable in the art of defense as well as offense?"

"Yes, my lord. In all aspects of warfare," he replied, swallowing his pride to give a respectful reply. Tact was required on this mission, a skill he'd have to pick up quickly, but Grimmjow had entrusted him personally with this job. He would not slip up for male arrogance.

"Then you will assist my son and become his attendant. Guard him from poison and assassins."

"As you wish, my lord."

His eyes swiveled over to his future charge, evaluating the youth. Like his father, he was fair of skin and dark of hair, though even paler than his sire. His eyes were a stunning emerald green, and they surveyed him with apathetic disregard, his lips curled ever so slightly in distaste, as if what he saw disgusted him. Like father like son; only the color of their irises distinguished between their cold, superior stares. Again, Nnoitra felt the urge to snarl and take a weapon to those eyes. Mutilate them, so they would not look down on him and he would not view reflected there the label they gave him; refuse. But his military training won out; follow orders. Do not deviate from the task given. They would die, in time.

"But poison?" he asked, the words finally sinking in, and he glanced over at Byakuya, uncomprehending. "Poison wasn't part of my training."

"It will be now. You are to be Ulquiorra's attendant, and that means you handle all aspects of his security. Testing for poison in his food is just another such responsibility."

Poison taster. His eyes narrowed as he nodded affirmation, but inside he seethed. He was a high ranked officer, not an expendable servant.

"Very well," he assented, and amused himself with images of their grisly demise at his hands. They wouldn't live long enough for the affront to his pride to matter. Certainly it would smart, but that was all a part of the occupation.

Byakuya dismissed the diplomats, rising.

"Retire to the rooms we have prepared you. We will negotiate the terms of the peace treaty tomorrow."

They nodded, bowing themselves out, and Nnoitra watched them leave, still awaiting his orders. They came a minute later, when the heralds had departed and only a few guardsmen remained in the room. He dismissed these too, much to Nnoitra's surprise. Could the man really be such a fool? The entire royal family, minus the princess, was alone with him. And while he was unarmed, he was a master of improvisation. One did not make it to his level without learning to play dirty. He grinned internally at the thought; his task wouldn't take very long. But now was not the right time. Security was still very tight around the place, and if he took them down now, there was a good chance he wouldn't make it out with his life.

If there was one thing Amistrians learned, it was not to waste lives needlessly. Efficiency was key. He would not turn this into a suicide mission.

"Jiruga."

"Yes, my lord?"

"You will accompany me somewhere before I entrust my son to you."

He rose from his throne, fluid as water but with a frozen expression more akin to ice. The difference in their heights did not seem to phase him as he stepped down from his dais, moving past him as if he weren't there. He never looked back to see whether he was following, and Nnoitra felt his temper flare as he watched his retreating back for a long minute before he finally surmounted his pride and fell into line. Yet even though the man before him had a disquieting air about him, the eyes that bored into his back were equally unsettling. One cold, one hot, and the both of them unnaturally keen. And suddenly, he had the sinking suspicion that perhaps they were not so foolish as they would appear. After all, these people had foiled Amistri not through military strength, but through a stunning display of strategy.

If Byakuya was confident enough to walk alone with him, former general of Amistri, it was not because he was naïve but because he knew with absolute certainty that he would not die. Nnoitra frowned. Where was he taking him that he did not bring guards?

"Where are we goin'?" he asked, a rough note creeping into his voice unconsciously. The natural, unrefined cant of his childhood he slipped into at times, though Grimmjow had mostly beaten that out of him. Or at least, taught him not to speak so crudely in his presence.

You are addressing a royal, whelp. You will speak as though you were raised in the academy, not some decaying slum.

"You do not have the authority to question me, servant," was Byakuya's cool reply, and Nnoitra's fingers twitched reflexively with the restrained urge to wrap around that slender neck and twist until he felt the crunch of bone beneath his hands.

God damn arrogant bastard.

He thrust his hands into his pockets and slouched a little as he walked, coiling the anger back into its box. Keeping it trapped for when he could put it to use properly. Not now. Not yet. To distract himself from his vengeful brooding, he looked around, taking in the geography of the palace. This was information he could use at a later date, and the passage they took seemed to be neglected. Not secret perhaps, but with the musty aura of infrequent use. Here was somewhere unusual. He straightened as he began to examine his surroundings more closely.

This was a place of faded glory. The walls were decorated by many fine tapestries, sewn with all the artistry and skill Mercia was renowned for. But they appeared dull. Aged. The colors seemed dim in the steady glow emitted from the sconces that lit the corridor. These themselves were unusual, for they did not flicker with fire light. No, something else appeared to fuel them. Underfoot was a rich carpet, not threadbare, but lacking a feeling of life, while above, the ceiling vaulted dramatically, disappearing into the unlit darkness. The entire place seemed to drain vitality from the air, and he shuddered ever so slightly. It was like a tomb. Not even the Spartan rooms of the barracks felt so lifeless. There was an energy that persisted in them that this place rejected.

When the passage split, Byakuya veered right, and Nnoitra felt the hair on his arms prickle. The sixth sense of his warrior training, his intuition, warned against treading that dark hall, but as he paused for a second time, he received an equal feeling of apprehension from the other fork, which twisted inwards and sloped down, disappearing into the underbelly of the castle. So reluctantly, warily, he followed the king in spite of his misgivings. And he only continued to feel more oppressed as he walked, the new passage much more enclosed and claustrophobic than the almost eerily spacious corridor from before. The shadow lights that illuminated the way here were so faint, they were barely perceptible; just a spiritless glow that haunted the walls. Never flickering. Never changing. Unnatural. His nerves crawled, writhing beneath his flesh like worms. Eating at him. Eroding him from the inside. He felt powerless, vulnerable… fearful.

Nnoitra narrowed his eyes at this, a light hiss escaping his mouth, which was eaten up by the stifling silence the moment it left his lips, and he almost startled to realize precisely how quiet it really was. He couldn't hear the footfalls of the man before him, nor his own. Not even his own breathing sounded in his ears. No, there was something very wrong here.

_I'm not a child, to fear the fucking darkness. This isn't just me. This is something else._

An irrational phobia he'd felt once before.

"There's a turn here, and a step down," Byakuya warned him as his head bobbed slightly, then disappeared from sight. Nnoitra stopped, his disappearance so abrupt even despite his warning. And in taking the moment to absorb his vanishing act, he also observed that the passage had grown lighter. The blackness was tainted by gray now, suggesting an exit ahead. Perhaps just around that bend. He lengthened his stride, navigating the step more by instinct than by care, and turned the corner. Sure enough, it opened up a few hundred feet ahead, and Byakuya waited by the exit, looking as emotionless as usual. He was coming to understand that this was his typical expression. He kept his sneer internal as he walked into the light, blinking his good eye myopically. And when he finally adjusted and was able to take in his surroundings, he couldn't help but blink again in astonishment.

They appeared to have been transported to another world, the change of scenery was so dramatic. He felt himself staring, amazed, but couldn't bring himself to tear his eyes away and save face. Above them, the entire ceiling was made of glass. He could see the thin, structural metal beams that crisscrossed it sparingly; just enough to hold it up without interfering too much with the aesthetics of what was otherwise a perfect view of the darkening sky. It had a remarkable clarity, barely distorting vision, and he envied the engineer who had designed it. The man was a genius; Amistri would benefit greatly by absorbing Mercia.

And then there was the room itself. Bursting with greenery in every direction. A veritable jungle of foliage that appeared at first sight to grow wild, but with closer observation was revealed to be subtly organized. A greenhouse hidden in a castle? For what purpose? The lands around the Mercian palace were already landscaped prolifically, with gorgeous courtyards and walkways and even ponds of imported fish. Nnoitra breathed in, inhaling the heady odor of rich loam, flowers, and ripening fruit. It was so humid here, it felt almost like he was breathing water, and the heat quickly brought a light sweat to his skin.

"Szayel, we both know full well you have visitors. Will you reveal yourself or force me to question your loyalty?"

Nnoitra glanced over at Byakuya who had come to a stop finally and now addressed the air in a stern but dignified tone that brooked no nonsense. For a moment, he believed the man to be a little mad, but his doubt soon morphed to surprise as another seemed to materialize from nowhere. The lithe newcomer swept the king a graceful bow, then straightened with a smile. Nnoitra noticed immediately his full head of hair, colored- and he nearly smirked at this -a shocking shade of pink. He looked like nothing more than another exotic variety of plant that belonged to this garden, with his delicate frame and flashy looks. A hothouse flower that required his carefully modulated environment to survive.

"Oh no, my lord. I'd merely hoped to get a better look at our new guest before I made my appearance. I never intended insult, of course."

The humble words made his stomach turn, but he couldn't help but feel that they weren't entirely honest. There was a soft cynicism to them, barely perceptible yet there nonetheless. Despite his simpering, it was quite obvious this man had his pride. And he was no menial personage; from the way Byakuya treated him with something akin to… regard. He had power. And he knew it. He could see it in his stance, in the nonverbal cues he gave off. He lowered his eyes and smiled deferentially, but there was also amusement in that smile and cunning calculation in those eyes. Eyes that promptly turned on him, and his breath caught at the intensity of those amber irises. The feeling of irrational phobia returned to him doubly, setting his teeth on edge, and he could not pinpoint why. Only narrowed his eye a fraction. Szayel's smile widened, an impish quirk that soon faded as he returned his attention to Byakuya.

"If I may ask what services you require of me this evening, Lord Kuchiki? You so rarely visit my humble abode to solicit my assistance, this is really a treat. I take it this isn't about my last request for you to send the prince to me for lessons though?"

Byakuya glanced over at him, and Szayel followed his eyes back to Nnoitra's again. Nnoitra remained stoic under their combined scrutiny, but his feeling of apprehension was rising. There was something about the pink haired man he found incredibly repellant. Some visceral aversion to him too strong to be coincidence.

"Ulquiorra is busy with his other responsibilities, but I will consider your request. As for my business with you tonight, it lies with _this_."

"This? What about this?"

The slender man walked over to him, tilting his head in an avian fashion as he leaned in to observe him. Like some specimen; his eye was critical. Clinical almost. Nnoitra held firm, the only sign of his distress visible in the rippling of the muscle in his arms as he held them forcefully relaxed at his sides. Szayel caught this, smile growing sly at his reaction to his proximity.

"Lord Jaegerjaques offered him to us as part of the package of peace reparations."

"Ah. I see the problem now," the pink haired main murmured.

Szayel looked over at Byakuya, expression rueful.

"Yes that is most unfortunate," he finally remarked lightly.

"Then you know what I want of you," Byakuya said.

Szayel paused, appearing to consider this for a moment, then coyly replied,

"I presume you have the necessary supplies? You know what I require."

The king nodded, a flicker crossing his face. Nnoitra watched him, feeling of dread growing. That cryptic reply had caused a reaction in Byakuya. A _reaction_, however brief. His body tensed, adrenaline beginning to pump through his system in preparation for a fight or flight scenario as Byakuya produced a small package and handed it to the pink haired man. Szayel thanked him with a murmur, then reached into the bag, and that was when a distressing realization hit the warrior. His eye widened as he crouched, ready to spring away. He knew this man. Felt a fool for not recognizing him earlier, but his servile words and attitude had stalled the recognition. It did not fit with the image he'd built of him on the battlefield. Szayel's eyes flickered up to his, and this time he openly smirked. A twitch of his pinky, and Nnoitra couldn't move. He was locked to the spot. Nnoitra growled, eye narrowing to a slit.

"_God damn fucking mage!"_ he managed to shout before he felt his mouth sealed as well. The man _tch_ed, shaking his head as he pulled out the materials contained in the bag; they consisted of several glass vials, each with a lock of hair.

"Oh dear, no you have it all wrong. I'm an archmage, you see. Not some half rate magician."

He arranged the locks into a square in his palm, then reached into his pocket and withdrew a ceremonial knife decorated with garnet in the hilt. He brought this up against Nnoitra's throat, pressing teasingly, and he felt the edge of the blade slice into his skin, eating further into the flesh as the archmage steadily applied more and more pressure until the cut bled freely. Then he withdrew it, cupping the hand with the hair beneath the stream to collect some of it in his palm while he licked the spare blood off the knife. Nnoitra watched in morbid fascination as he proceeded to turn the blade on his own wrist and slice a shallow gash into it, tilting it so the blood ran down it to join the pool he held cupped in his palm, and once again repeated the licking ritual. Only then did he stow the knife away and extended his hand straight before him, as if holding an offering. And as Nnoitra watched, it began to burn.

The fire was rose colored, though edged with an ominous crimson, and blazed like a star in his hand. Yet the man did not appear to be in pain. He was in control of his fire, completely focused on it. His eyes did not blink as he uttered soft incantations under his breath; his lips hardly made a sound as they moved, and the sound that they did make was more like a low hum than anything resembling words. The fire blazed brighter, tongues of flame licking up high into the air as he progressed, and Nnoitra felt a tingle race through his body stemming from the shallow gash in his throat. But after what seemed like an eternity, it finally began to die, burning lower and lower until finally it flickered and died completely, leaving only a small pile of ash. Szayel's incantation faded, and he blinked, concentration finally breaking. Turning back towards Nnoitra, he took his free hand and ran it through the ash. Then he began to anoint him with it, painting designs onto his skin until it was almost completely used up. The last of it he smeared over the cut in his wrist, on his lips, and then a faint sign over his temple; a six pointed star, circumscribed. With a finally smirk towards Nnoitra, he turned back to Byakuya and offered him a deferential dip of his head.

"It is done," he said.

"The terms?" Byakuya asked.

"The usual contract."

Nnoitra growled against his bindings, seething, and Szayel gave him an amused look.

"Shall I inform him of the details?" he inquired of the king. Kuchiki gave him an unfathomable look, then nodded.

"It would be best if he fully understands his situation."

_What fucking situation?_

"Nnoitra Jiruga, you are bound by blood to serve the royal Kuchiki family unswervingly. If you should attempt to harm or kill your masters, you will die. The curse will cause your blood to boil in your body, killing you if they should ever chance to die by your actions. Harm them, and you will suffer. Take action to harm them, and you will feel your blood burn even before you lay a finger on them. And thus you are bound. Do not seek asylum with another mage; the addition of my blood ensures that only I can undo this curse."

And with another twitch of his finger, Szayel released him. His body, locked in struggle against the spell that had held him, toppled forward at the unexpected release, and he just barely caught himself as he fell. His breathing came out jagged, fingers clenching so tightly the knuckles showed white. He could feel that contemptible man watching him, laughing at him silently behind his bespectacled eyes. Those same eyes that had gazed out at the battlefield with a savage light during the war. One of a few unpredicted factors that had led to their defeat.

_Fuck fuck fuck, no! Not him!_

The situation had suddenly gotten a lot more difficult with this new complication. He wiped at his face, trying to remove the ashes and knowing it was a useless endeavor. They'd already imparted whatever powers they'd been meant to.

"Rise, Jiruga."

That was Byakuya. That damn Byakuya. He should have killed them all when he'd had a chance, and to hell with his own survival. Now he'd screwed up. Screwed up so royally, he wasn't sure if he could recover from his error. Trembling with rage, he stood, trying to remain calm. Trying to not scream and lash out in senseless, instinctive violence.

"You understand that I could not let you roam the palace freely without a guarantee that you would not murder us all in our sleep. This is my guarantee. If Amistri truly wishes for peace, it shouldn't be a problem."

"Lord Kuchiki, you are so generous. If I may presume to ask then… should the prince prove too occupied with learning the affairs of state, then might you send the princess to me in his place? She shows a talent for magic, and it seems such a shame to let that go to waste."

Szayel interrupted mildly, looking suitably humble. Nnoitra looked over at him, eye widening.

_God, if the future noble bratlings learned magic? Shit!_

"I already told you that I would consider your request, Szayel. Be content with that."

"Yes, of course. How rude of me. Just one last… thing. It would appear your new servant expresses, ah… resistance. As such, it would be best if you sent him to me twice a month to renew the bond."

Byakuya appeared to consider his words for a moment while Nnoitra's mind reeled. Visit him? Twice a month? His flesh crawled at the thought. And what did he mean by resistance?

"I would have sent him to you at first to have you train him in poison tasting, but that can be arranged as well."

"Poison tasting?" the archmage remarked with interest, eyes lighting up.

"Yes. I'll send someone down to inform you when to expect him."

"Excellent. I anticipate his visit."

He gave Nnoitra a wink, then bowed to Byakuya.

"I'll return to my work then."

A flicker of light, and the man disappeared again, vanishing as swiftly as he'd materialized, and Nnoitra swore the last thing he could see of him was his Cheshire grin, promising unpleasantries to come. He stared, numb with fury, at the place where he'd disappeared, only stirring when Byakuya addressed him.

"You'll retire to your quarters, which border on Ulquiorra's. The other servants will have prepared it by now. Your duties begin tomorrow. Are we clear?"

Nnoitra flexed his fingers, regretting that he could not have wrapped them around that throat like he'd longed to earlier, before the repercussions would have been so lethal. But he gradually forced himself to bury the urges, to lock his resentment away so it did not seep into his face and voice. And in a painfully even tone, he finally managed to reply.

"Yes my lord. Crystal."

* * *

**A/N:** Well, I'm back with the last multichapter fic I will start until I finish FP. Then I will probably start another. But in the meantime, I have a good explanation.

This is a late(ish by a few hours) birthday gift fic for **Xylexia**, who wanted a NnoitraxUlquiorraxSzayel love triangle fic, especially NnoixUlqui because its such a rare pair. And of course, being the masochist I am, I agreed to write one for her. I intended it to be a oneshot. My idea was too grand for that. I really do need to work on smaller plot planning. x_x

But I digress. This is going to be a very cracky fic. Full of pairings. And crack. And pairings. And crack. And basically, you have the plot right there. Woohoo! For this story, you get Nnoitra POV primarily, but it will switch around a bit in certain chapters. So enjoy the first chapter; I have permission from the person I am gifting this fic to to procrastinate as much as I want on it. (Seriously. I just want to finish up one of my fics at least. I already have one on hiatus, and I don't want that to happen to another)

Read and review if you like, as ever. And see you in the next chapter. :3

~Tinari


	2. Decorum

He didn't spend the night well, but that went without saying. The bed was comfortable, probably more so than what he was used to sleeping on despite the fact it was a servant's quarters. The room itself was nice; though likely far simpler than the royals' rooms, it was nonetheless artfully decorated with Mercian wares; the brazier on his bed stand was mercifully ordinary and the firelight real, while the floor was covered by a large, detailed rug depicting a hunt scene. Nobles on horseback chased after an elusive white stag through a forest, accompanied by their hounds and a fanfare trailing behind them. Above shone a horned moon, casting a silvery light over the party. He hadn't had the patience to examine it any closer, but there were disconcerting shadows between the trees. Eyes, he swore, lurked in the underbrush; hidden beings watching the hunt, whether ill intentioned or benign.

That was when he'd torn his eyes away to skim over the rest of the room, grudgingly appreciating the energy of the place after the soul sucking gloom of the corridor that led to Szayel's domain. Still, it was little comfort when he realized that, unless he could figure out a way to break the curse the archmage had placed on him, it would be his home for a while yet. The warrior paced restlessly at that thought, wracking his brains for a solution, but eventually gave up, kicking off his shoes and stripping off the formal attire he'd worn to the palace, which now abraded his pride. There would be no immediate answer to his plight; he would have to observe closely and learn Szayel's weaknesses. Find a way to blackmail or bribe the man into helping him. With this in mind and dressed only in his undergarments, he lay down reluctantly and stared at the ceiling until at some unknown point, his vision dissolved to blackness and he slipped into the dream world.

-.-.-.-.-.-

"Thief! Thief! Catch that boy!"

Nnoitra stretched his lanky legs, maneuvering deftly through the market place as guardsmen followed close on his heels. Adrenaline coursed through his veins, making his blood sing, and though he was afraid of being caught, the risk also tantalized him. Made him feel alive. The world raced past him, details preternaturally clear in his state of hyperawareness. There were several factors working against him; his own poor nourishment, the pie held awkwardly clutched to his chest and reducing his agility, the fitness of the men pursing him… but there were also advantages. His smaller size, adroitness at moving quickly through crowds, and the impetus to escape, because a thief who was caught in Amistri suffered either mutilation or death, depending on the value of the stolen item.

He would likely only lose a hand, but in the rough, cutthroat slums, being a cripple was as good as a death sentence. But he would not lose a hand today; the shouts of the guards that followed him were faint in his ears. He was losing them. Victorious, Nnoitra ducked into an alley…

…and ran headfirst into a man. The boy swore as he backed off and glared up at his obstacle with hostile, narrow eyes. However, hostility soon turned to dread as he realized who he'd run into.

"Fuck!" he proclaimed, tensing to flee, but the blue haired man's hand quickly shot out and grabbed his shoulder in a vise-like grip.

"You don't speak that way to your future king, slum brat," the royal growled. Nnoitra glanced back over his shoulder, hearing the shouts of his pursuers grow closer, and narrowed his eyes even further. He stuffed the small pie into his mouth, releasing his hands for use, and quickly struck the man's wrist. He released him as soon as he made contact, pulling away before Nnoitra could break the bones there, and the boy took the opportunity to turn tail and run.

He felt a leg hook around his knees, and with a yelp muffled through the pie in his mouth, careened forward, landing in the alley muck and losing the item he'd gone to such efforts to filch. Dazed, he struggled to his feet, only to find himself facing the guards who had finally caught up to him. They took one look at him, then at the man behind him, and seized him before acknowledging their crown prince.

"Prince Grimmjow, apologies for your run in with this vermin," one proffered as he manhandled Nnoitra, roping a leather cord around his wrists. Nnoitra glared and kicked him in the kneecap.

"I'm not vermin ya damn guardsman trash!" he shouted wildly as the man cringed and shifted his weight to his other leg. The guard hit him hard across the face, and though the pain made him gasp and his vision black out for an instant, he grinned, knowing he'd struck a vein. Deciding that if he was screwed anyways, he'd go down with the satisfaction of shaming his captor in front of his liege.

"Academy failure! Not even good enough ta be a proper soldier. Yer stuck here instead guardin' market places from 'vermin' like me who never even had th' chance!" Nnoitra antagonized, spitting on his boots. His efforts were rewarded with a brutal kick to the stomach, and though he bent double in pain, he never let the crazy grin fade from his lips.

"Quiet you thieving piece of shit, or it'll be more than your hand that I cut off!" the guard threatened, seething. He yanked him upright by his long, wild hair, and pained tears sprang to the corners of his eyes as his scalp screamed in agony.

"Probably Roma stock, bloody useless vagrants," his partner commented as the boy finally stiffened and quit his thrashing. Nnoitra's response was to stomp down hard on his foot. If it weren't for his steel toed boots, he would have had the satisfaction of hearing his toes crunch. The guard cursed and kicked his legs out from under him, and Nnoitra fell to his knees, eyes rolling back in pain.

"Bet it makes ya feel good ta kick me around since ye'll never get to see the battlefield. And ya call yerself an Amistrian. Ha!" was his vindictive, albeit breathless retort. He shrank back when the guard drew his sword, baring his teeth, and tensed his body to roll away.

"Disrespect to authority means whipping, boy, but I think I'll take that hand and impudent tongue of yours first."

Nnoitra stared back defiantly as the man released his hair and his companion circled around to grab him from behind. He felt himself roughly shoved up against the wall of a building, cheek pressing painfully into the stone and mortar, and his hands untied. One was twisted painfully behind his back, the other wrenched high above his head and pressed flat against the stone. Fear curled his gut as he realized what was about to happen, and he began to thrash again. A blow to the back of his head concussed him and his wild movements slowed somewhat, but did not stop, and a litany of threats and curses streamed from his mouth.

"You'll pay ya bastards! I'll make ya fucking pay for this! No good, knuckle draggin', scum sucking, mother fucking sons of bitche-"

A rough, calloused hand covered his filthy mouth, cutting off his colorful cussing, and a cold chill ran up his spine as he felt metal press against his wrist as the guardsman judged the angle of his swing. His knees locked as he felt it withdraw, anticipating the moment the sharp steel would whistle down and sever hand from wrist with dread. He opened his mouth, preparing to bite down on the palm that gagged him when a stern, imperious voice rang out.

"Stop."

The crown prince. He'd forgotten about him in his panic, and now… he was interceding? The guardsmen seemed just as surprised as he, for they expressed their consternation.

"My lord, this boy-"

"Are you questioning my authority?"

The man stalled.

"No, milor-"

"Then release him."

His captor let him go, grudgingly, and Nnoitra rubbed the circulation back into his wrist before tensing to spring away. Grimmjow shot him a warning look, and despite all of his nerves shouting at him to run, he stayed. It was only by Grimmjow's grace that he wasn't at this very moment having his hand cut off. Nnoitra straightened, still wary, but waiting. Grimmjow stalked over to him, hands clasped behind his back, and sized him up critically. He stared back, unabashed in his defensiveness, dirty with the filth from the alley floor.

"You boy. Your name?" Grimmjow demanded.

"Nnoitra Jiruga."

"Why did you steal?"

"I'm hungry."

"Where is your family?"

"Rotting in the slums if they're still alive."

Grimmjow nodded briskly, as if he'd expected such an answer.

"How old are you?" he asked.

"I am ten."

The prince paused, appearing to consider this bit of information, then nodded again.

"Very well. You're a little old, but I think it will be possible to fit you into the Academy."

Nnoitra gaped.

"T-the Academy?" he stuttered, all cynical defensiveness gone in an instant.

"You have courage, initiative, and stubbornness, all traits that would serve you well. But you have to learn to hold your tongue. Insubordination will get you killed quickly."

Nnoitra opened his mouth to say something, then thought better of it. Finally, he shuffled his feet, lowering his eyes respectfully.

"Yes, sir. Thank you."

Grimmjow snorted, amused, and dropped into a half crouch, tilting his chin up.

"Don't think this means you're getting off without a beating, boy. You'll take your lashes for disrespecting a guardsman, but you also owe something for stealing that pie."

Another cold chill ran up his spine as his apprehension returned, and Grimmjow removed a knife from his belt.

"Hold him so he doesn't struggle," he ordered the guards, and they eagerly complied, immobilizing him as Grimmjow unsheathed the weapon. It was not decorated, made only of leather and cold, blueish steel. He looked down at Nnoitra, eyes no longer filled with amusement, and raised the tip of the knife so that it rested just above his left cheekbone.

"Remember boy; the law is hard, but it is the law. No one is exempt."

Nnoitra screamed as the weapon plunged into the socket and gouged out his eye.

-.-.-.-.-.-

A knock on the door roused him from his dreams. Blinking the sleep out of his eye, he remembered where he was, then glanced over to where he'd heard the knock. In a moment he was out of bed, striding over to the door and opening it. He stared down at the petite, rather intimidated looking servant who in turn looked up at him. She cleared her throat nervously, lips pursing as she eyed his bare chest, then met his eye.

"You're to wake at this hour every day, sir. Prince Ulquiorra rises early, and you have to be up before him to attend to him."

Sir. So, as the personal attendant to his Royal Apathy, he received a status boost. Not ideal, but not bad. He could work with this. Maybe.

_Just think of him as a higher ranking officer…_

"Time?" he asked tersely.

"Just before sunrise."

_So, just like in the barracks._

He could definitely work with this.

"Got it," he replied, before abruptly shutting the door. The woman knocked again, this time impatiently, and when he reluctantly dragged it open again, she looked up at him indignantly.

"Sir, I'm not here to wake you up but to light your hearth."

She stared past him towards the small fireplace he'd missed, and he eyed it lazily now, eye flickering back to her after a moment.

"Now why the hell would you do that if I'm not gonna be here most of the day? Seems like a waste of time and fuel to me," he remarked flatly, and grinned when she looked flustered. "Look, I can light my own damn fires. I'm not some useless noble."

She shot him a dirty look, thinning her lips, but lowered her head to show she'd understood.

"Of course. I won't disturb you anymore."

She turned and closed the door behind her quietly, despite the sourness he felt from her at his rude treatment. He stared at the door a moment longer, then shrugged, stretching his shoulders, and went to retrieve his luggage.

It was a medium sized wooden trunk, and contained all his belongings. A war chest, as the Amistri Academy referred to it. It was one of the first things issued to new students, along with a uniform, and by law, all personal belongings a soldier owned had to fit into it. Of course, his first war chest had been smaller, as befitted a student. As he'd advanced to the position of general, he'd been upgraded to a larger size. But while he'd been but a student, he'd learned quickly to keep only what he needed. If he filled his chest with treasures, he would have no room for his clothes, and all possessions found outside of the chests were confiscated. He remembered very clearly one boy who had been somewhat of a packrat; the fat tears that had rolled down his face at the realization that he hadn't any fresh underwear to change into and his uniform trousers were now missing, the penalty of which was a good public lashing in front of the other students.

At the time, it had seemed a rather stupid rule. Now, with a greater appreciation for precisely what it took to keep a vast army running efficiently, he understood that it had been the Academy's way to teach its students to travel light. And even now, Nnoitra did just that. He grimaced at the clothes Grimmjow had forced him to pack as he pulled them out; they were of cloth more decorative and soft than useful. However, true to Amistrian pride, the cut was smart and simple. No pointless flourishes or frills; these were clothes he could move in, fight in if so needed. He might be a pet to the Mercian royals now, but that did not mean he would dress as one.

He carried them over to the bed, tossing them onto the mattress before he stripped off the rest of his clothing. Over his legs he strapped leather pads, and leather gauntlets went over his arms as well, the tops of which were sewn with very fine chain mail. He regarded the rest of his armor, reluctantly leaving it be. What he wore was more a measure of personal consolation; he felt strange without the typical weight on his body. With a grudging sigh, he pulled on his shirt, hating how the sleeves billowed slightly, though at least it had proper cuffs. This material was far too light for his tastes; a thin, navy silk better suited for a merchant than a warrior. The pants at least were more substantial, and he tucked the bottoms into his boots as he slipped these on. Leather gloves, made of kidskin, went over his spidery hands snugly. All that remained was his belt, which he'd refused to exchange for something fancier, and he hooked this over his hips, feeling the weight of his sword settle comfortingly at his hip; he hadn't been allowed to take with him his poleaxe, as it was impractical in a palace setting. His long sword really was too, and so a variety of knives and small weaponry were also secured to his belt, including one bullwhip concealed along the inside rim.

At last, he was ready to face his charge. Or nearly ready. There was a pitcher of water on his bedside table, and he took this up, pouring some into his hands and splashing it across his face to wake himself up completely. Combing his hair, he pulled it up into a pony tail with a tie so it would not get in his face while he worked. Whatever that entailed. Trailing a person more statue than man promised to be a rather dull task, and he grit his teeth at the thought of how much of a waste of his day that was. Wiping the sour sneer off his face, he stalked out of his room without a backward glance.

The king had mentioned his room adjoined Ulquiorra's suite, giving him a couple options. But judging from the distance between doors, he placed the royal's room as the door several meters down the hall. He was there in seconds, his long legs quickly eating up the distance, and he leaned in the doorframe casually, rapping the wood with his knuckles.

"Milord?"

He schooled his voice to be emotionless, not quite trusting himself to sound respectful or cheery just yet. Fuck if he was going to sound cheerful for this pale-skinned bratling. He shook his head at the thought, lip curling slightly in distaste.

"Enter," came the monotone reply, and he obeyed, stepping inside. Ulquiorra was still in the process of dressing, though he'd nearly finished, and as he walked in, he caught only the flash of his white chest before he pulled on his dark emerald silk tunic. Nnoitra watched him, privately marveling at his white-washed complexion.

_ How the fuck's he so pale if his mother's skin is dark?_

Somewhere along his family lines, he must've had an albino for an ancestor. He grinned internally, amused by this thought.

"It's impudent to stare at royalty, servant," Ulquiorra informed him quietly, cold green eyes catching his violet reprovingly. He reached for a black vest embroidered with silver thread as Nnoitra averted his eyes dutifully, fingers again twitching slightly at his sides. He really had to work on impulse control, but it was so difficult when his entire existence was reduced to that of an insect crawling at Ulquiorra's feet.

Servant.

The word was bitter on his tongue.

After adding a sash to his ensemble and combing his hair, Ulquiorra walked past him quietly, not even bothering to send a glance his way as he exited his room.

"Follow," was all the tacit young man said as he swept down the hall at an unhurried, dignified pace. And resisting the urge to growl mutinously, Nnoitra followed a few paces behind, placating himself with the fact that his charge was rather short for a male, and though he could talk down to him figuratively, literally, it was an impossibility. Back safely turned to him, Nnoitra took the opportunity to let his internal, snaky grin externalize.

There was an advantage to playing at personal servant. It meant that he got to eat the same food as the royals, and so breakfast was a more sumptuous affair than he was used to. Walking into the banquet hall, he was greeted by the sight of the kitchen servants setting the morning meal. They nodded to Ulquiorra as he entered, disappearing back to the kitchen, and the room was left empty but for the two of them. The rest of the royal family had yet to arrive. Ulquiorra took his seat over by one of the large stained glass windows set into the wall, filling his plate quietly and managing to make little more noise than the unavoidable rasp of metal on ceramic as he arranged his chosen food on his plate, though even these were occasional. He was very poised in handling his silverware, almost nauseatingly precise. Nnoitra watched him for a minute as he selected what looked like a slice of flaky egg and spinach pie- quiche, he vaguely recalled- buttered slices of fine, white bread, slices of steaming smoked ham with a light honey glaze, and several segments of an orange citrus fruit that smelled sweet. There was a bowl of oatmeal already set out for him, and he shook a spoonful of brown sugar over this, mixing in raisins and chopped walnuts from another dish before adding a small trickle of milk from a pitcher.

Nnoitra stared. Porridge. Oats. For a noble? Admittedly, the raisins and walnuts were a luxury peasants couldn't afford, but still. The dish was so plebian. Ulquiorra glanced up at him as he stirred the oatmeal with a silver spoon, emerald eyes catching his sole violet with an expression close to reproach. A moment later, he found out why.

"Didn't I already tell you it is impudent to stare at royalty? Now come over and taste this for me."

Ulquiorra proffered him the spoon he held, now full with the oatmeal. Nnoitra stared at it dumbly for a moment, and Ulquiorra's eyes narrowed a fraction.

"I gave you an order, servant."

Nnoitra reached out and took the spoon automatically, then paused, eyes flicking between the object and the prince. He gazed back coolly.

"And why the he-… why I am supposed to taste this?"

Ulquiorra's lips thinned as he gave him a look of complete disdain.

"Obviously to ensure it isn't poisoned. Or at least not poisoned with something that will immediately kill me. I'll have to chance it for today; my usual poison taster is in bed with a fever, so he's just as useless as you."

Nnoitra stared into his large, green eyes, gelid with superiority, and let his lips tip up into a sardonic smile. Oh, there was really no surmounting this one's pride and self-importance. No point in arguing with him, or provoking him. It may have been tempting if he'd known he'd get a reaction out of the young man, but even that was doubtful. So he smiled, an eerie smile that involved more tooth than people generally found comfortable, and he raised the spoon to his mouth.

"Of course, milord. That was a stupid question."

_And if yer damn breakfast kills me, I'm coming back to haunt ya._

-.-.-.-.-.-

The food wasn't poisoned. Or at least, not laced with any fast acting compounds and it was still possible they'd die in horrific ways later, writhing on the ground and convulsing as they spat up blood from ulcerated organs as Ulquiorra informed him rather morbidly. That was something he'd discovered about his young charge; he was surprisingly pessimistic, flatly informing him of what could, he said realistically, occur to lead them all to failure or demise. Yet even with such a dark outlook, he maintained his confidence and pride. It was a strange blend of temperaments, one that unsettled him slightly. A future ruler should not act so passively towards perceived or possible fate.

The remainder of the royal family had shown up some twenty to thirty minutes later, still early but at a more reasonable waking hour. The king and queen had arrived together, with the princess preceding them by a minute or so. By this point, having tasted all of the food on the table, he'd been allowed to take a seat down at the end where no one sat and fill his own plate of food, which he was tucking into as he watched them enter. His narrow eyes appraised the young woman who fair skipped into the dining hall, a tall beauty in a burgundy dress with a modest chest and a slightly immodest bodice line. He raised an eyebrow at her exuberance as she minced over to the table, so out of place among her brother and father, but it wasn't her figure or energy that drew his eye so much as the color of her hair. Pink. His gut clenched. It reminded him unpleasantly of another.

The young woman, whose age he estimated to be somewhere around sixteen, sat down next to her brother.

"Hey, hey, Ulqui. Isn't it pretty out today?" she asked with a smile and a cheerful warble as she leaned forward on her elbows conspiratorially. He gave her a dignified look as he replied, but Nnoitra noticed how his expression seemed less stiff. There was even the faintest hint of a smile under the apathetic set of his mouth.

"Quite lovely, Yachiru. But you shouldn't slouch like that. Rukia will tell you off for improper posture."

Yachiru made a face, but straightened up, removing her elbows from the table. For a moment, she actually looked elegant sitting there, her shoulders rolled back and her chest forward, hands resting delicately in her lap. Then she grinned impishly again and rose, giving her brother a peck on the cheek before she made her way further down the table to where a plate had been set for her. As she sat down, her father spoke up.

"Yachiru, learn manners. It is unbefitting of a Kuchiki to act in such an irreverent fashion. You should listen to Rukia more; she seems to have a grasp on the way proper ladies should conduct themselves."

Yachiru glanced up the length of the table at Byakuya, expression inscrutable for a moment before she composed her expression into something more modest, dipping her head in assent.

"Yes, father."

She picked up her fork delicately and set to arranging things on her plate, but Nnoitra observed that the minute Byakuya occupied himself with his own breakfast, a sly half smile returned to her full lips, and her warm brown eyes gleamed with something that was definitely not meek. However, she drew no more attention to herself that morning. Even when she glanced over at him, obviously dying to interrogate the man who watched her silently from his end of the table, she said nothing. He offered her a one eyed wink at her searching look, and she pulled a face at him before pointedly ignoring him, head held high arrogantly, though there was a playful aura to hers that the other males did not hold.

The queen was another story. She had remained silent during the whole exchange, and unlike her son, daughter, and husband, she was watchful. He was in fact drawn to her after he felt the eyes of another watching him intently, and he slowly raised his to look across the table. He closed it quickly at the sight of amber staring back, again reminded of a certain man, before he opened his. Her complexion was exotic; deep violet hair, framed an angular face the color of coffee and milk. She had a cutting gaze, those golden eyes framed with dark lashes far from soft, but whereas her husband and son's were cold, hers were hot. Smoldering embers, hinting at the intensity of her personality which masqueraded just beneath the surface of her feminine, curvaceous figure.

Instinct told him to stare back, challenge the authority of what he recognized to be someone dangerous. A rival. It was an instinct that confused him, and that he ultimately disregarded. She was a queen, not a warrior. Not a danger. And in any case, he was not in the position to act defiant towards a reigning monarch of the country he now served. So he looked away, down at his own food as he ate, and gradually felt the heat of her gaze travel elsewhere. He only realized he'd tensed when he felt his shoulders relax, and he scowled at himself, questioning the strong feeling of wariness he felt in response to her. She was only a woman after all.

Nonetheless, he continued to brood on his reaction through the course of the meal. Even when he observed a softer, playful side to her as she spoke to Byakuya warmly, and he saw where Yachiru had learned her mischievous smile and strong personality from. Even when Ulquiorra excused himself, rising, and Nnoitra rose as well to follow. He was struck by his impression of this strange royal family, an impression he'd gotten the evening before. That there was more to them than there seemed superficially, and they were not the silly merchant fops the rest of the world typically assumed them to be.

Every ruling family had their dark cess of secrets. It seemed the Kuchikis were no exception. And depending on what he uncovered, that could work in his favor.

Perhaps this curse would turn out to be a convenience.

* * *

**A/N**: So goes another, rather uneventful chapter. I do so hate setting up stories. x3 I find it tedious and want to dive straight into the action, but oh well. Once again, I've broken my practice of no flashbacks in the middle of a fic. I guess that makes me an incorrigible hypocrite. Too bad. Little Nnoitra is adorable but has a positively filthy mouth.

Yes, the queen is likely who you suspect her to be. Yes, she is married to Byakuya. Yes, Ulquiorra and Yachiru are their children. And Ulquiorra eats oatmeal. I did say this was crack, didn't I? Just wait till you see who else I've twisted in this story. ^^ And believe me, I have done so. (Ohoho)

Next chapter should have less reflection and a little more action. :3 If you like, read and review. I love reviews. They make my day. There is also the possibility that I use this fic as a Nanowrimo "novel" and thus you will get (hopefully) many updates. On a fic no one reads. I make no sense to myself.

See you when I see you next!


	3. Reevaluating Masculinity

This curse was not a convenience. It was just a curse. No advantages, no perks, no fortune popping up at his side cheerfully to whisper about some fated piece of knowledge which would become the crux of his espionage mission. Nothing. Just one goddamn lethal curse and the world's most obnoxiously bland ward to trail behind everywhere he marched his little pale ass. And for a spoiled royal, he sure did walk a lot.

Nope. No more falling for optimism. He was done with that. If opportunity presented itself, he'd seize hold of it, but no more optimism. There was nothing optimistic about his current situation. Sure, the food was good, but it could be poisoned. He was getting some decent exercise from gallivanting across the palace grounds with his charge, but he could be doing this back in Amistri. The day, as the princess had pointed out, was uncommonly beautiful…

_But I'm stuck watching the prince._

He eyed the back of his black, silk vest. A sight that had become all too familiar to him in the past hour. Shoving his hands in his pockets, he stalked after him, glancing around at his surroundings.

The Mercians really were fond of making everything look beautiful. They walked down a path bordered by bushes of flowers in full bloom and tall, graceful trees. Beyond this, a fountain that burbled musically with crystalline water could be seen. At its foot, growing in the eternally damp shade, were water loving plants, mints predominant. He even saw an orchard as they walked, and the scent of flowers in bloom wafted heavily towards him every time the wind blew their direction, carrying with it the drone of bees.

If one place could epitomize the word idyllic, the Mercian palace would be it.

Those lucky bastards. Those lucky, lucky bastards. They didn't know the meaning of the word hardship. What it was like to carve out a living from nothing. Mercia was a nation of merchants. A maritime country, graced with resources and the means to export them easily. A Mecca of illumination, of the arts and knowledge and brilliant minds. Every child was afforded an education under the belief that anyone could become the next great mind, or craftsman, or artist. Aside from spats their navy occasionally engaged in with pirates, they hardly knew war. Mercia skillfully played the strings of diplomacy, of debt, of supply and demand, and somehow managed to stay on top of it all.

Ulquiorra turned down the left path when the road forked, angling back towards the palace. Nnoitra shook his head, wondering at the sense in his meanderings. It didn't seem like meandering, for he appeared to walk with purpose, but his routes were so eccentric. It was little wonder Byakuya had assigned him to guard him; if assassins ever arrived to kill him, they'd find the task extremely simple. There was no need to isolate him if he voluntarily walked alone. Then again they'd have to find him first.

It wasn't until Ulquiorra stopped that he realized he'd said something. Mentally berating himself for allowing himself to get distracted, he tried to piece together his words from his scattered mind. The prince however was not one to dally, and with an impatient look over his shoulder, repeated himself.

"I told you to leave me. Go find something to do with yourself; I don't want you following me around everywhere."

"Pardon, milord," Nnoitra remarked sardonically as he stared down at his charge with a bored look, "It's not my idea of the best way to spend my day either, but I've been assigned to you."

Ulquiorra directed an equally bored look at him in return, turning slightly to face him. His hands were tucked into his pockets nonchalantly; for all that he critiqued his sister on posture and decorum, his wasn't exactly up to par either. Hypocrite.

"Then as your master, I command you to take a break," Ulquiorra said.

"Sorry princeling, I answer to a higher authority than yours," Nnoitra replied with a grin he couldn't suppress. Sure, he had to look after him, put his life on the line for him whenever he ate, and generally put up with his arrogance, but when Ulquiorra ordered him away, that was a command Nnoitra didn't have to follow. He was sworn to protect Ulquiorra and stay by his side, and if the little royal spawn found issue with that then he could choke on it; it gave Nnoitra the utmost pleasure to deny him.

Ulquiorra's emerald eyes narrowed at his cocky reply; he was most likely unused to being told no. Well too damn bad for him. Maybe he was a prince, but it was high time he learned the whole fucking world didn't revolve around him.

"Wipe that grin off your face, filth. You will address me with the proper respect or remain silent," the smaller man ordered imperiously, turning on his heel and marching away. Nnoitra followed, privately gloating that he'd managed to piss him off. Not even his lofty attitude and words could hide that he was irritated. Anything was better than that emotionless mask of his, and if he was to spend most of his time with the prince, then he'd entertain himself with putting as many cracks into it as he could.

He'd assumed that Ulquiorra would be returning to the castle, but it turned out his assumption was wrong after all. Just before they reached the main path to the palace entrance, Ulquiorra took yet another side path that wound around towards the back. The forested vista soon opened up onto flat fields of grass, which at first glance seemed free of the landscaping that marked the rest of the Mercian palace. However, as he examined the area more critically, he realized this land had also been worked. Mercia was not a flat country; much of it was hilly, becoming increasingly more mountainous as it ran towards the interior. A high spine of mountains protected Mercia's inland border; its greatest threat came from the ocean, hence the creation of its navy.

There was something almost aggressive about Mercia's relentless taming of its lands. For a moment, he thought of his own Amistri and compared the two; the imperial war machine renowned for absorbing other countries and methodically stripping them down for resources to fuel its ever expanding reach with the peaceful, illustrious merchant kingdom. The comparison seemed ridiculous in hindsight, and he shook his head to clear it of the niggling thoughts that lingered at the corners of his mind as they arrived at wherever it seemed Ulquiorra meant to bring them. The prince drew up to a halt in front of what appeared to be a stable.

"Yammy," he called in a cool but firm voice above the soft whickering of the steeds inside. A moment later, the summoned man appeared, cleaning his hands on a well-worn rag. Nnoitra raised an appraising eyebrow at the stable hand; he was broad and muscular, looking as though he could easily snap a man in two with his rough paws of hands. However, the expression on his face stood completely at odds with his coarse appearance. A jagged grin split his face as his eyes alit upon Ulquiorra.

"Ulquiorra!" he roared in welcome, "Come for your mount?"

"Yes, Yammy," the prince replied quietly, unfazed by Yammy's exuberant greeting, nor the sight of a small dog gamboling around his feet, tail wagging like mad. When it went to greet Ulquiorra, sniffing at his boots, Yammy growled a reprimand at it.

"Shoo, dog. Outa his way."

The dog looked back over at its master, wagging its tail charmingly as its tongue flopped out of its mouth, and with a small yip, bounded back over to him. Nnoitra noted its apparent lack of apprehension around the bulky man, which spoke to his true temperament in spite of his rough address. Yammy meanwhile seemed to notice him at last, and some of his good humor faded.

"So, what did you drag along with you?" he asked of Ulquiorra. The prince spared him a glance before his eyes flicked back over to Yammy.

"Nothing much. Father decided I need a bodyguard."

"Looks too skinny to be a proper bodyguard," Yammy observed with a critical look before shrugging and walking back into the stable, "I thought ya'd be over today, so I made sure to get'm ready for you."

Trailing after Ulquiorra and Yammy, Nnoitra stepped inside the building. He didn't take another step for several seconds. He shouldn't have been so surprised. The Mercian royals were quite wealthy, and from what he'd seen so far, eccentricity quite appealed to them. But he was surprised nonetheless, for the beasts within the royal stables were of a more unusual variety than one's typical equestrian.

Over in one large pen, a Gryphon flexed its wings, catlike with its rump in the air and talons kneading the straw on the floor as it stretched. It swished its leonine tail and crossed its paws as it settled back down, eyeing the visitors with a lazy avian eye cracked, but otherwise seemed unconcerned with company. Another enclosure held what looked like a draconic horse, though its anatomy was far more delicate than a horse. Closer perhaps to a deer, with its cleft hooves, horns, and dainty ankles. It eyed him proudly from its pen, looking perfectly regal with its red and gold scaled skin and slightly out of place here in this man-made structure. Though Yammy was busy opening the door to another stall, he didn't miss the look in his eye as he observed the strange creature, and he put a name to the beast.

"That's a Kirin, a Unicorn from the far East. They're very rare, had trouble acquiring it. But they're supposed to bring good luck."

Nnoitra nodded, glancing over at him to see what animal he was leading out of the stall, and his breath caught slightly at the equine he led out. It was gorgeous with its flawless black coat and silken mane, truly a steed of superior stock. But that wasn't what caught his eye; what really made him stare were the leathery black wings that unfolded from its back as it pranced out into the stable.

"Sub species of Pegasus," was Yammy's admiring comment as he swept one of his broad, calloused palms over its withers. It nickered, nosing at his hand, and he offered it an apple from his pocket.

It was fucking _badass_ was what it was. Nnoitra watched with envy as Ulquiorra swung into the black leather saddle on its back, accepting the reigns from Yammy. He glanced down at Nnoitra with a superior air from his new perch, looking every inch the noble he was.

"So if you insist on following me around, I'm not sure what you're going to do, but I'm heading down to the city. Make a decision in the next minute or I'm leaving you behind," he informed him coolly, and Nnoitra's brow furrowed.

"You don't have any ordinary horses?" he asked of the stable keeper, who shook his head.

"I don't keep normal animals," said Yammy, "No fun if they don't try ta kill you once or twice."

"Even the Unicorn?" Nnoitra asked doubtfully, glancing over at the Kirin. Actually, it looked quite capable of doing damage if it so desired. Though delicate and refined, it still had a fierce look to it due to its draconic attributes.

"Oh… you know, there's an idea," Yammy remarked thoughtfully, "Ya could take Yachiru's mount."

Ulquiorra raised an eyebrow, the first sign of emotion he'd seen for several minutes.

"Yachiru's steed? Are you quite sure Yammy? I'm not sure he could handle him," the prince said, soft voice filled with something close to amusement. A ghost of a smile drifted across his lips briefly.

Shit. If Ulquiorra was smiling, that probably didn't bode well. But… whatever. It was a freaking dragon-horse-deer thing. What was so dangerous about it? He could handle it.

"Hmm… you do have a point there. But I'm not going to let a newbie ride any of my other beasts, and Yachiru's trained him pretty well…" Yammy replied. He looked thoughtful for a moment longer, then nodded to himself. "Moonwhisper it is then," the man announced, then walked to another stall.

_Moonwhisper? What the hell kind of name is that? Leave it to a scatterbrained princess to name him something so fucking-_

"Here kid. Come say hello to Moonwhisper."

Nnoitra stared. The animal he'd fetched was most definitely not the Kirin. It was white and elegant with a silvery mane, dainty cleft hooves, and a spiraling white-gold horn. Its tail was leonine, ending in a white tuft, and its face was slim and tapered, a small beard like a goat wisping under its chin.

"What the fuck is that?" he asked, incredulous. The words slipped out of his mouth before he even thought of them.

"This here is a Unicorn you moron. What does it look like?" Yammy drawled, running an affectionate hand down its arched neck. The beast regarded him with deep violet eyes, looking decidedly unimpressed with him. He blinked. Wait, how exactly did that work anyways? A glorified horse looking unimpressed?

"I thought ya meant the Kirin," Nnoitra said, crossing his arms. So he was acting sullen and undignified, but really! They expected him to ride a fucking girly Unicorn named _Moonwhisper_?

"Na, I wouldn't let an amateur ride the Kirin. I'm still a little reluctant to let you ride this one either," Yammy said, fetching a saddle for it.

"Because it's _so_ fuckin' dangerous," Nnoitra remarked sarcastically.

"He is, actually. I'd advise you to shut up before you insult him any further, Gilga," Ulquiorra commented. That shadow smile was back, his lips quirking upwards ever so slightly at the corners.

"Yeah? Give me one good reason why I should respect it," Nnoitra retorted, still dying of envy internally at the sight of Ulquiorra's ride. God what he'd give to be riding the black Pegasus. Imagine flying into battle on that thing…

"Because he's a man-eater," the prince commented wryly.

_ A what?_

"Ah, yeah. Thanks fer reminding me, Ulquiorra. Wouldn't want him to take a bite out of some poor chap in town," Yammy said brightly, passing Moonwhisper's reins to Nnoitra abruptly, "Here. Hold'im for a bit."

Nnoitra took hold of the reins awkwardly while Yammy meandered towards the back and opened a barrel. The Unicorn offered him a placid look in return, and after staring at him for a moment, Nnoitra cracked a grin.

"A man eater, huh? You don't look so dangerous," he commented. The Unicorn whickered quietly, shifting his delicate feet as he bent his head gracefully. Nnoitra reached up to run a hand through his silver mane, admiring its beauty even if it was something he would never admit out loud.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," Yammy commented as he turned around, a slab of meat in hand, and it was the only warning he got before the beast lunged forward. Nnoitra swore as he leapt to the side, avoiding Moonwhisper's horn, which suddenly seemed a whole lot less pretty and a great deal more dangerous.

"What the fuck!" Nnoitra yelled as the Unicorn turned and drew his lips back to expose white teeth with conspicuously pointed canines; a feature he was positive was not anatomically present in ordinary horses or Unicorns. And if they _were_ typically present in Unicorns, then he had been grossly misinformed about the true nature of the species.

"Moonwhisper, let go!" Yammy barked curtly as the beast reached over and grabbed the hand that held his reins between his teeth, and the Unicorn rolled one eye back to look at the stable keeper, ears flattening against his skull stubbornly. Nnoitra swallowed heavily and resisted the very pressing impulse to rip his hand out of his mouth before the thing decided to bite down after all.

"Moon," Yammy growled warningly. The Unicorn pressed harder, and Nnoitra felt his fangs poking into his skin. But after a tense staring match between the two, the equine's ears gradually came forward again and Nnoitra felt him let go of his hand reluctantly with an indignant huff of his nostrils. Shaking out his mane, Moonwhisper trotted over to Yammy, who offered him the slab of meat he carried. The Unicorn made short work of the offering, and Yammy cleaned his bloody snout with the rag cloth he carried, leaving it as white and inconspicuous as before. Taking up his reins, which Nnoitra had dropped, he offered them to the tall man once more.

"So, ya think you can handle'im this time?" he asked in his rumbly voice. Nnoitra eyed the reins, his eye flicking between the Unicorn and its leads. Nodding mutely, he reached out to accept them, noticing the indents left in his hand from where Moonwhisper had bitten him. At least he hadn't punctured the skin, though he knew he could have easily.

"Do all, er, Unicorns eat meat?" he asked as he took up the leather reins and walked around to vault into the saddle Yammy had strapped into place. He tried to ignore its feminine design; probably the princess's from the size and fit.

Yammy laughed.

"Hardly. He's just a nasty piece of work, aren't you Moon? Rare breed, man eating Unicorns. Usually they just gore people through the middle and leave it at that, but the flesh eating variety takes it a step further. Szayel helped me acquire this one, and the princess fell in love with'm as soon as she lay eyes on him, bless her heart."

_Usually they just gore people through the middle._

Yes, he'd definitely been misinformed about Unicorns. Nnoitra offered him a faint smile as he vaulted into the saddle, gripping the beast's flanks with his knees. Nnoitra wasn't usually one to ride horses due to his height, but he'd make an exception today. Hopefully Ulquiorra's visits to town weren't all that common, though from Yammy's greeting, it would seem they were periodic. It remained to be seen if this was a weekly kind of periodic or a monthly kind. Looking to Ulquiorra, he nodded affirmation that he was ready, and the prince spared him a half amused look before turning his steed and trotting off. Or at least, it seemed like it was half amused. It was still hard to read the unemotional prince.

Ulquiorra's trot soon morphed into a canter, which became a gallop as he picked up speed. Moonwhisper, not one to be outdone it seemed, quickly matched the black Pegasus effortlessly, tossing his head almost disdainfully as if to ask, _is that it?_ Nnoitra privately wondered how intelligent he was, for though he didn't speak, the animal seemed to have an uncanny understanding of things. And he was proud. When Ulquiorra's Pegasus took off, wings buffeting the air impressively, Moonwhisper screamed a challenge to the airborne mount and stretched his long neck forward as he picked up speed. They were soon skimming over the ground at an unbelievable speed, and while Nnoitra would have expected the ride to be rougher, just the opposite occurred; Moonwhisper hardly seemed to touch the ground as he galloped just beyond the shadow of Ulquiorra's Pegasus, horn glinting in the sunlight. And he didn't tire either. By the time they reached the city and Ulquiorra banked, coming in to land, Moonwhisper hadn't even broken a sweat. He slowed to a canter, neat hooves clattering smartly against the flagstones as he pulled up alongside Ulquiorra's steed and offered it a nicker that sounded decidedly smug.

Dear god, here he was interpreting Unicorn sounds and body language. What next? The entire situation was surreal, so he didn't say a thing when the prince rode up to what looked like an inn and dismounted, gesturing for him to do the same. A man bustled out of the establishment a moment later, tailed by a gangly looking youth, who eyed Nnoitra's ride with something close to alarm.

"Prince Ulquiorra! Welcome! We are honored as ever to host your presence here," the man said, greeting him enthusiastically. Nnoitra wondered how people could treat him with such warmth when the pale young man had such a cold personality. The guy was probably just kissing his ass.

Ulquiorra nodded assent and looked to their rides, and the man, who Nnoitra figured to be the innkeeper, seemed unbothered by his tacitness. If Ulquiorra visited as often as it seemed, he was probably used to his prince's quirks. He waved to the awkward teen he towed with him, and the boy nervously took the reins of Moonwhisper and Ulquiorra's Pegasus, leading them to the back where the stable for guests' horses stood. Nnoitra watched him walk away, noting with amusement how the youth walked closer the black steed; obviously, he'd dealt with Yachiru's mount in the past and knew to afford him a healthy respect.

"Stay or come," Ulquiorra said, recapturing his attention as the smaller man followed the innkeeper inside. Nnoitra shot him an irritated look as soon as his back was turned, the familiar urge of wanting to strangle him surfacing temptingly before he brushed it away and followed, ducking as he stalked through the doorway. What he found inside was not what he'd been expecting.

It figured Ulquiorra wouldn't have frequented a common establishment. From the outside, the place looked like an inn, but once he was inside, he realized what it truly was; a tea shop. The air was scented with a variety of fragrant blends, smelling worlds nicer than your average tavern. Underneath this aroma of brewing tea and tisanes wafted the scent of freshly baked pastries and scones; some savory and some sweet. In one corner for example, he spotted a man dining on a rosemary crusted meat pasty with a pot of something nearby and a steaming cup of amber liquid in hand. The woman across from him had what looked like a blackberry fruit tart.

Then there was the décor. Sumptuous in the Mercian fashion, with tapestries on the walls and a variety of handcrafted centerpieces at the tables, but nothing was gaudy. It all worked together; rich, but tasteful. The tea bar looked to be polished ebony with a stripe of cherry wood worked in as an accent; this custom piece itself must have cost a hefty sum. Behind the bar, the wall hosted an extensive assortment of tea blends, each organized by type. Whites, greens, blacks, reds, oolong, rooibos, Darjeeling, herbals, fruit teas, chai, tisanes… it was almost intimidating to take them all in. And the regular customers were very easy to spot; they chatted with the waiters, casually dropping orders for names of teas he'd never heard and discussing the growing conditions of the latest shipments.

The customers themselves were something to see. Well dressed all of them, some more richly than others. Not a ragged beggar in sight. Several of them greeted each other familiarly, gathering around the circular tables arranged throughout the room to chat and share news over a shared pot or two. Merchants closed deals here; gold passed hands as freely as laughter and gossip. There was even a young couple in one of the less lively corners lost in each other's eyes as they exchanged private complements. Nnoitra stopped looking at this point, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. Wealthy young men and women would beget wealthy brats, and when they tired of their newfound responsibility, they'd hire some not so wealthy maid to care for their spawn while they bemoaned their difficult lives. Fops.

Ulquiorra by this point had taken a seat at the bar and ordered his pot of tea, ignoring the rest of the room, and despite a few murmurs among the customers, no fuss was raised for the most part as they treated their prince with respectful distance. Which showed just how well off the people that gathered here were. Nnoitra settled for standing nearby and leaning against the bar; though the stools were high, his legs were still long enough to be awkward. The prince ignored him as well until his tea arrived, filling the air around them with the light perfume of flowers. A couple scones with a pat of butter and a small jar of creamed honey were delivered a moment later, and as Ulquiorra carefully took up the provided knife and opened the warm bread to spread both butter and honey across the halves, he gestured towards the pot of tea.

"Pour me a cup," he said in a bored sort of tone, glancing up. His brilliant emerald eyes caught his for a moment before returning to his scones as he added on to his order, "The server mistakenly brought two cups. If you wish, you may taste my tea for me."

"May?" Nnoitra asked, raising an eyebrow, "You weren't going to have me do it just on principle?"

Ulquiorra looked up on him, giving him a look that asked _are you some sort of moron?_

"This is a reputable establishment, and I will not insult the owner by towing a poison taster along with me. I have not done so in the past, and I am not about to begin now. I've only brought you on my father's orders. That is all," he replied with cold dignity, taking a bite out of his scone. Nnoitra looked at him disbelievingly for a moment, then shook his head.

"I don't get you. It would be so much easier to poison you outside the palace. All it takes is one rogue server."

"The staff here is meticulously screened using truth spells to discern ill intentions upon hiring."

"That doesn't stop an employee who has already been hired who gets bribed," Nnoitra retorted. Ulquiorra sighed, giving him a disdainful look, and reached inside his vest to pull out a clear crystal pendant etched with the Mercian royal coat of arms.

"See this? I commissioned it from Szayel for when I visit new establishments in town whose reputation I've yet to ascertain. This crystal absorbs toxins and warms up when something has been poisoned. It turns dark and brittle once it has reached its capacity to absorb poison. I am perfectly safe."

Nnoitra stared at the pendant, then scowled, hands clenching slightly in anger as Ulquiorra put it away again and took another bite from his scone.

"So if you've got the fucking thing, why do you need me to taste your food?" he asked bitterly, trying to restrain his fury at the young royal and his family.

"Because often the type of poison can be very telling when it comes to identifying the perpetrator. Mercia is a peaceful country. We do not fight wars. But every so often, another country gets uppity and tries to do away with us subtly. Magic can distinguish some poisons, but there is such a great variety, identifying spells do not exist for them all. This pendant does not identify the type, only the presence of poison. Tasters still remain the most effective way to screen for poisons," Ulquiorra replied, tone darkening slightly as he stared into Nnoitra's eye with a condescending look. His eyes swiveled over to the teapot pointedly after a moment, "So then. When were you going to pour my tea?"

"Right now," Nnoitra replied a little sourly, reaching for the pot and pouring them each a cup. Szayel's pendant had been free of taint, which told him poison attempts weren't very common. He was probably in the clear. Still scowling slightly, he took a sip of the hot amber liquid. His scowl faded a moment later as the taste hit his tongue and he stared down at the drink in his hand.

"Something wrong?" Ulquiorra inquired dryly as he blew on his tea and took a sip, obviously not caring if something was.

"No, nothing," Nnoitra answered, marveling at the flavor. It was light and floral, like its aroma, and he'd never had anything like it. This was clearly high quality tea; most likely expensive. At its best, drinking tea was like drinking gold. Some of the rarer varieties he knew were worth more per ounce than the yellow metal.

"Jasmine," Ulquiorra commented tersely in explanation, "Stop staring. You look like poor bumpkin trash."

Fuck. This kid was going to rule the country when his father died? If Nnoitra didn't manage to kill him, he hoped someone else would. Byakuya had the superior authority of a king. Ulquiorra was just fucking arrogant period. All the same, Nnoitra obeyed, a sneer curling his lips before he composed his face into something relatively neutral. They passed the time in uncompanionable silence while Ulquiorra finished off his scones and most of the small pot of tea; Nnoitra himself had indulged in a couple of cups already and was on his third, deciding if someone could make a jasmine flavored alcohol he'd gladly die of alcohol poisoning from overdosing on it. It wasn't until Ulquiorra drained the last of the pot that something happened to break the monotony. A man materialized alongside Ulquiorra from one of the tables- a merchant, Nnoitra remembered from his idle observations of the comings and goings of the tea shop, and a particularly wealthy one. It seemed he'd recently become an important man when an especially lucrative venture in the South had paid off.

Nnoitra's attention immediately sharpened as he appraised the man, sifting through his mind for other observations he may have made while simultaneously making new ones. The merchant extended a hand, which Ulquiorra did not return, and offered him a winning smile, making introductions and small talk. His actual words were unimportant to Nnoitra, however; whatever he was saying, it wasn't worth listening to. It was all superficial anyhow. No, the real information came from his posture. The way he carried himself. His gestures and expressions and all the little movements he made. His tone. The nonverbals were what gave him away, or at least some of his intent. Nnoitra closed his eye for a moment, taking the information in as he swirled the last of his tea in his cup.

It was something he'd seen before. Several times actually. An approach he knew very well. He just couldn't quite believe the man was actually daring to pull this on the stone-faced prince. Opening his eye again, he watched Ulquiorra now, picking out his mood from the rare cues he gave. To his surprise, he was not as stiff and emotionless as usual. He still offered the man a disdainful arrogant look that warned him off, but his posture was different now. He was relaxed, almost like he was used to this. He balanced his chin on one upturned palm, leaning forward slightly as he responded to the merchant in his typical taciturn way. But whatever his face and voice said, the story his body told was a different one.

_Holy shit…_

The man was coming onto Ulquiorra, and Ulquiorra was…

"And you really believe this information is worthy of my time? I am the crown prince of Mercia," Ulquiorra reminded him coolly. The other man offered him a look that verged on hunger, though he quickly composed himself.

"Yes my lord prince. Entirely worthy of your time. But might we discuss it in private? I have a room rented upstairs that should suffice nicely; the inn has enchantments on the walls to prevent prying ears, which can be activated. I'd of course spare the price."

How convenient. Spelled walls. Nnoitra wondered at the so-called "reputation" of the inn. It was shaping up to seem like a pleasure place for the rich nobles and elites. Certainly, legitimate discussions might take place in private here, but the possibility that the spells existed to cover up certain _other_ noises seemed very high. And Ulquiorra knew this. There was no way he didn't.

"Very well then, but let me warn you if it is a waste of my time I will be very displeased and will make things unpleasant for you," the prince replied, rising from his seat. Nnoitra stared after him as he accompanied the merchant to the stairwell, disbelieving. Oh yes. Ulquiorra knew. And not only did he know, but it seemed he participated as well, which explained why he seemed so in his element. Shaking his head, he followed them up the stairs, thoughts churning in his head. And while the realization that he was gay did come as a bit of a surprise to him, there was another than stunned him far more.

_Holy shit. The crown prince of Mercia is a slu-_

"Gilga, wait downstairs," Ulquiorra ordered as they reached the man's room. The merchant turned and really seemed to look at him for the first time, a scornful expression curling his lip.

"Who is this?" he asked, looking back over at Ulquiorra possessively. Nnoitra grinned back at him.

"Oh, just my bodyguard," Ulquiorra replied airily, though it was the merchant he ignored. His eyes were fixed on Nnoitra, silently ordering him away.

"Yep. Just a humble bodyguard," Nnoitra confirmed, still grinning, "Who is tasked to keep an eye on you at all times until otherwise dismissed."

Ulquiorra raised an eyebrow, turning to face him fully. One hand went up to rest on his hip as he tilted his head slightly. Alarm bells went off in Nnoitra's head at this sudden change of attitude. Though Ulquiorra remained as aloof as ever, there was something dark about his stance. A playful confidence he never would have expected him to exhibit. It could, he supposed, be interpreted as coy. But his eyes told a different story. There was again a mismatch.

"I didn't know you wanted to see me naked so badly," he commented with a straight face no different than his usual expression, but a soft nearly imperceptible undercurrent colored his words. The man next to him reddened at his candor, growing flustered and glaring daggers at Nnoitra. But Nnoitra couldn't care less about the merchant. He was busy reassessing the supposedly bland prince. Who was flirting. In a deadpan and as stoic as usual, but flirting nonetheless.

"As hot as that sounds, I'll wait outside the door," Nnoitra replied lightly, keeping his unease out of his voice. Ulquiorra's ghost smile appeared, clinching his creeping suspicions, and he turned back to the merchant.

"Go acquaint yourself with the teas downstairs when you get bored so you don't look like ignorant gutter refuse the next time I come here. I'll be out in two hours," he said offhandedly as he entered the room, the merchant trailing after him. Nnoitra waited until the door was closed before letting out a breath he hadn't known he'd been holding in.

"Shit…" he muttered to himself quietly.

Ulquiorra was good looking. Pale flawless skin, large brilliant green eyes, dark hair… He was on the shorter side of medium height for a man and slender. From the flash of his chest he'd seen this morning, Nnoitra knew his muscles had definition, but he was not physically built. In short, he seemed like ideal uke material if it weren't for his status and pride. But he knew instinctively that Ulquiorra would not be bottoming during this encounter. His appearance was deceptive.

The look he'd seen in his eyes across the hall… there was the truth. Dark. Cold. Amused. He'd smiled when Nnoitra had brushed off his comment, and there was knowledge in that faint grin of his. More than knowledge even; cruelty.

Ulquiorra had the eyes of a predator.

Confirming this, a muffled cry issued from the other side of the door, followed by pained whimpering. Bedsprings creaked as indistinct pleading started up. Only Ulquiorra's voice carried; smooth and dispassionate.

"I've only just begun and you're already begging?"

More pleading and pained sounds followed, followed by a cut off scream that made Nnoitra's blood curdle. Soft keening started up after a long moment, a sobbing whine that prickled up his spine and raised the hairs on his arms. It was a sound he was used to, having tortured information out of several men himself, but not something he ever expected to hear outside of an interrogation chamber or tent and certainly not coming from the other side of an inn door.

"Noisy trash. I told you if you wasted my time, I'd make things unpleasant for you," Ulquiorra reprimanded quietly, words emphasized with a sickening crack. Something had been broken. The merchant made a choked sound then and promptly fell silent. Fainted, Nnoitra presumed. He could imagine the look of disgust on Ulquiorra's face as he sighed.

"Two hours I set aside for you. Don't think fainting will help you," the prince murmured softly, almost tenderly. After a moment's pause, he spoke up again, as if musing to himself, "Meanwhile, I suppose I should activate the privacy spell."

There was another creak from the bed, followed by the soft patter of footsteps as Ulquiorra walked to the door to activate the charm inscribed in the frame, and a moment later, all fell silent. No more footsteps. No more creaks. No hushed murmurs or sounds of pain. Just silence.

Knowing what went on beyond that door, it was eerie. Nnoitra detached himself from the wall, conscious that Ulquiorra could probably hear him in the hallway. The prince knew he was there, knew he'd been listening. And actually, Nnoitra was willing to bet all that he owned that Ulquiorra hadn't forgotten to activate the charm up until that point. It had been a show for his benefit. An unspoken warning.

Ulquiorra too had recognized something in his face when they'd locked gazes across the hall. The moment he'd seen the understanding in Nnoitra's eye, his tone and attitude towards him had shifted. A challenge had been established, from one seme to another. From one sadist to another.

Nnoitra was so fucked. So so so so _so screwed. Shit! Fuck! The prince of Mercia is a fucking sadist, and I'm his servant._

If he'd only gone downstairs… if he'd only gone along with Ulquiorra's order he would have been spared the knowledge and avoided arousing Ulquiorra's interest. But now that Nnoitra knew his secret, it made him a prime candidate for similar treatment at a later date. And since Nnoitra couldn't lay a finger on the prince because of his curse, self-defense was not an option. Which meant avoiding Ulquiorra was his only choice. But that also wasn't an option because he was _his bodyguard_.

Oh yeah. He was royally screwed. Literally and figuratively. The thought made him laugh, a note of hysteria creeping into his voice as he made his way downstairs. Ulquiorra had told him to "acquaint himself" with the teas, and he was only too happy to oblige that request. Shit, he was gonna need it if he wanted to collect his jumpy nerves by the time Ulquiorra came down. Seating himself at the bar, he ordered a cup of chamomile to start with and gradually proceeded through the shop's extensive tea sampler. The innkeeper was only too happy to accommodate his requests and questions due to his association with prince Ulquiorra.

Two hours later, when Ulquiorra meandered down looking clean and unruffled as usual to pay, Nnoitra had made use of his psychological training to compose himself. The prince merely nodded towards him and headed for the stable once they'd exited the establishment. The stable boy was only too happy to pass off Moonwhisper to Nnoitra, who was forced to dodge the temperamental Unicorn's horn once before making it into the saddle. The ride back to the castle was probably one of the most uncomfortable experiences he'd had in a long while, and though seeing Yammy was a welcome break from the suffocating silence, it was a brief one. He still had to follow Ulquiorra around for the rest of that day…

Then, just after dinner, Nnoitra was thrown a dubious lifeline.

* * *

**A/N:** Woohoo! Longest chapter for this fic yet. :D Sorry for the late update. I didn't do this story for Nanowrimo after all, but have an extra long chapter which sort of ends on a cliffhanger as a Christmas gift instead.

So… where to start with this one… Well, third chapter in, and I've realized I'm probably going to destroy Ulquiorra's character utterly in this fic. Because I've made him an oatmeal loving sadist with a sister complex and a penchant for playing Dom with random strangers who come onto him. Think about that for a moment. (That poison pendant ain't the only spelled protective gem he's got on him for that matter. If you take my meaning. *Shot*)

… yeah. For that matter, Nnoitra is probably going to get warped too. (Sorry Nnoi v_v;;) Eesh. Good luck to you, Gilga. I've changed his name to this romanization because of the name updates, which I'm still getting used to. *Rants* Name changes are evil.

Right. Flesh eating Unicorns. You know, I really don't know. That one came out of an idle train of thought. What would Yachiru ride? A Unicorn totally. (Those things are actually portrayed viciously in a lot of mythology. The fluffy portrayal came about more recently) But she's Yachiru, so I figured it would have something badass and (more) dangerous about it. Then I realized Nnoitra would give it shit for being a Unicorn and it obviously had to be a carnivorous Unicorn. The bat-winged Pegasus meanwhile is perfectly content to remain vegetarian. c:

Kirin is actually the Japanese name for the mythical beast known as the Qilin. It has so many spellings, I just chose the first one I remembered. That one is Byakuya's mount. Yoruichi rides the gryphon. There are other magical beasties in the castle who I will introduce at a later date; those are just the ones in the "stable." The pens are spelled in case anyone was wondering how they adequately hold magical creatures. Yes, I also warped Yammy's character. He's the royal beast master. Or something.

… I claim artistic license and the fact this is a crack fic in my defense. x_x;;

Ugh. Long A/N is long. My apologies, and I'll see you in the next chapter, whenever that gets put up. *Hint hint* Did I ever mention reviews mean I update faster? (Especially since no one probably reads this because it is a rare pairing) Critiques and complements are equally welcome :3 Ciao, folks. Off to edit and get some sleep (It's nearly 5:00 am on Christmas Day where I am…)


	4. The Color of Danger

He hated amber, he decided. The color, not the stone. There was just something about people with that particular shade of iris… and maybe it was complete coincidence, but the three individuals he knew with golden eyes were people to be wary of. One was the Queen, who had the aura of a tigress. Another was a blue haired alchemist who'd wrought destruction upon the Amistrian army with his manufactured bombs and powdered explosives and Greek fire. And the third… the third was a man he dreaded confronting, whose amber eyes he stared into now as he smiled and greeted him with deceptive warmth. Szayel Aporro Granz, royal Archmage of Mercia.

He'd been called down to Szayel's greenhouse after the evening meal, presumably for his first lesson in poison tasting. Though the earlier revelation that Ulquiorra was perfectly secure in eating his meals still smarted, he supposed it would be to his advantage to learn. Say, if he ever got out of this hell of palace. It would be that much more difficult for someone to kill him, so long as he could survive the training. He didn't envy whatever unlucky bastards there were out there who had this as a lifelong profession.

Standing there before Szayel, the starry night sky looming dark above them just beyond the curving panes of the glass ceiling, he tried to keep his composure as best he could. It was a little difficult, for the Archmage unnerved him and despite the fact that night had fallen, the greenhouse felt just as hot and humid as before. His palms sweated and his skin perspired lightly, and he was grateful for the lazy tropical breeze that wound cat-like around them, bringing the rich scent of soil and the fragrance of flowers to his nose. Idly, he wondered where the breeze came from, given that they were indoors, but he supposed it went along with the microclimate Szayel had created here for himself. If he could manipulate the water content and heat in his greenhouse, he could certainly create some wind.

"And how are you enjoying your new life in Mercia thus far?" the Archmage finally inquired pleasantly of him, speaking up. Nnoitra grunted, reluctantly dredging up a reply.

"S'alright."

"How undescriptive, if unsurprising. We'll have to work on that later. Do come with me for now; you can regale me further over tea."

The pink haired man waved for him to follow, starting off down a path of broken slate that led straight through the heart of his organized jungle. Though it looked natural, as if it had been there for centuries, a relic of some abandoned civilization with moss and low creeping plants growing between the cracks, he knew it had been very specifically designed to look that way. Other paths, these of tamped down dirt, diverged from the main thoroughfare, winding further into the forest. Aesthetics seemed to be very important to the Archmage. He half expected to hear the ambient noise of wild creatures rustling in the undergrowth to complete the man's miniature rainforest, however, the place was eerily silent. It sent chills up his spine, how unnatural this place felt. A fabricated paradise, just as landscaped as the rest of Mercia.

Another clue that this was all manmade came from the little glowing globes that were strung along the path, lighting it enough so that they could see where they were going. They looked like small golden moons, and they cast a gentle light across the mossy path. Like the sconces in the dark, lifeless hall that led to Szayel's domain, they did not flicker with fire. Magic fueled them. He wondered if he plucked one from its arboreal perch, would it feel hot to the touch? Would it give off any warmth at all?

Nnoitra wasn't sure what to expect when they emerged from the greenery of Szayel's forest, but what the room opened out onto was a comparatively narrow strip of cobbled stone floor. Over by the wall was what looked like a teakwood writing desk. A small glass dome with a potted plant inside took up the left side. As they approached it, he could see it held a small flower cutting, barely two inches in height. Gloves lay beside it, along with pruning scissors, but what really caught his eye wasn't the desk or its cargo so much as the creature on the metal stand beside the desk. The avian being stirred to lift its head from beneath one folded wing and appraise them curiously as they drew near.

Oh god, was it gorgeous. If he thought he'd seen some beautiful animals today, this was positively stunning. It glowed, feathers glittering like fire as it arched its swanlike neck, shifting on its golden perch and flexing its wings. Upon sighting Szayel, the phoenix spread them and took off, flying towards him and circling overhead a moment before coming in to land, trailing tail shining like a comet behind it. Nnoitra swore he could see sparks flying off the beast, but he realized a moment later that it had lost two small feathers from its breast plumage and he reached up to catch these as they fell. They glowed in his hands, warm but not hot like they looked, and some of their brilliance faded even as he watched. While the phoenix preened contentedly on Szayel's shoulder, tending to its wing feathers, the Archmage turned to extend a hand expectantly.

"I'll need those. I collect them for use as magical reagents. You wouldn't know what to do with them anyways," he said, and Nnoitra reluctantly handed them over.

"You have a phoenix?"

"Obviously. What does it look like? A cockatoo? Come along. I've set up in another room."

There was indeed another room. He hadn't noticed the door at first, for the magical bird had distracted him, but he could see it now, and Szayel opened it and stepped through… as if it was perfectly ordinary to walk around with a phoenix on one's shoulder. Well, maybe for him it was, but it was still somewhat surreal for Nnoitra.

The climate change was instant and disorienting. From hot and humid, he went to cool and dry. Or perhaps it wasn't cool here, but it felt that way after the tropical heat of the greenhouse. This part of his home had a cozier feel to it, though it was no less sumptuously decorated than the rest of the palace. He supposed this was where Szayel entertained guests, though he couldn't imagine people visited him very often. Though he had a charismatic smile, there was something very offputting about the mage. He felt like the type to plunge a dagger in your back; someone who had no qualms about murder, who would do what he wanted to get what he wanted. He was handsome certainly, even despite his scholarly lenses, which he suspected were really more for show than anything else. But he was also a dangerous man. Lithe and confident and lethal.

Turning around to face him, Szayel offered him a sly smile and gestured for him to have a seat at the small table off to the side. A tea service was already set up, with porcelain cups on either side of a steaming teapot ready to be poured. More tea. Wonderful. He had a feeling he was going to get sick of the beverage between Szayel and Ulquiorra. Gingerly, he sat down, folding his long legs awkwardly while he waited tensely for Szayel to take his seat. He did so elegantly, crossing his legs as he stared demurely across the table, amusement quirking his lips.

"I'm afraid I cannot offer you anything to eat, but since you just had dinner, I'm sure you won't mind," the pink haired man said as he reached over, pouring himself a cup before pouring Nnoitra his. Nnoitra watched the amber liquid swirl from the spout into the bone white china almost meditatively, not knowing how to reply. Though his words were polite, there was insincerity in his voice. He didn't really care what he thought. He didn't really care what he had to say. So why was he making small talk?

"What kind of tea is it?"

"It's a type of Darjeeling."

In other words, expensive. Nnoitra had managed to retain some information from his foray at the tea shop. He inhaled, testing the aroma. There was a light scent of citrus in the fragrance of the tea. It smelled good… Tentatively, he took a sip. Across the table, Szayel smiled and raised his own cup to his lips.

"You don't seem terribly talkative this evening, Nnoitra. I can call you Nnoitra, can't I? We're going to be seeing quite a lot of each other, so we might as well get friendly now, don't you think?" Szayel said with a cheerful levity that grated on his nerves.

"What am I supposed to say to you? You called me here; I'm assuming you have a reason. I'm just waiting for you to tell me what you want from me," he replied with as much neutrality as he could. The Archmage sighed, taking a sip of his tea and leaning forward conversationally.

"Is hospitality a dead art in Amistri then? I'll make a note to never visit if that's the case."

"I'm just a servant. Hospitality isn't required with me."

"Oh, you're a bit more than a servant. You were the former vice general of Amistri. Nnoitra Gilga. Somewhat of a legend on the battlefield, what with your missing eye…"

The Archmage's voice lowered in pitch as he reached forward to brush fingers across his eyepatch, but Nnoitra abruptly scooted back from the table, chair grating against the floor in complaint. Szayel's hand paused in the air as a tense silence stretched between them, Nnoitra's fingers clutching the edge of the table harshly and turning his knuckles white. After an awkward moment, the pink haired man withdrew, picking up his tea again and starting up the conversation as casually as if nothing had happened.

"I wonder… how much has your own innate magic influenced your fighting style…?" he mused.

_Innate magic?_

"What?"

"I should think it manifested as a sensing type out of pure necessity, to make up for your disability."

_Sensing type…_

"What the hell are you talking about?" Nnoitra cut in, scowling. Magic? He didn't have magic. What was this man going on about? Szayel apparently disagreed, for his grin only widened, though he covered his smile coyly as he leaned back.

"Oh my, that's right. You wouldn't know, would you? You Amistrians are so focused on conquering and waging war and building up the physical talents of your warriors, you fail to incorporate magic, because it is seen as easy and dishonorable. Then again, no mage would be caught dead in your Spartan society. You leave no room for individual growth. Everything is so regimented. But you, Nnoitra, have magical potential locked away inside. Your military training and blind spot have forced some of it to leak out, giving you an enhanced sixth sense I would imagine. Having magical potential doesn't make you a mage by any stretch of the imagination though."

"And how would you know? How can ya tell? This sixth sense you call magic… it's called instinct. Intuition. Ya learn it on the battlefield when you've got to be constantly aware of your surroundings, or someone'll gut or decapitate you," Nnoitra retorted, eye narrowing as he began to slip into a rougher cant in his frustration. Fuck magic. He wasn't magical.

"There are a couple ways to tell. Magic will always bleed through and reveal itself. The subtler way is based on appearance. Those with magical potential will have unusual hair or eye color. Take me for example. I have pink hair and gold eyes. Both are unusual, and both natural too. I have not altered them artificially. In your case, your iris is purple. There are actually many people out there with potential, but most never tap into it or become aware of its existence. That requires training. In some cases, need will drive an unconscious usage, though this is very limited and can hardly be called magic. It simply enhances existing capabilities or talents.

The other way to tell if a person has magic is to feel it in their aura. Because you are accessing some of your magic, I can feel that. You can feel mine as well, which is why you're so jumpy around me. I'm actually an intimidating person if you can believe it," Szayel explained, chuckling somewhat at the last part, as if he found the thought entertaining.

Oh, there was nothing entertaining about him. And there was no way he was buying into the Archmage's explanation.

"I'm not a fucking mage," he said flatly, and Szayel shot him a disapproving look.

"Yes I know," he said haughtily, "If you would actually listen, I said that having _potential_ is different from actually _being_ a mage. Frankly, I doubt you'd ever become one. You don't have the mindset."

"Then why are we discussing it at all?"

"Because you, Nnoitra, have another irritating ability due to your innate magic. If someone curses you, that curse will degrade over time because your magic will reject it and break it down. You have what is called magical resistance. Conversely, if a beneficial spell is placed on you, you have magical conductivity. Spells will stick more readily to you and be amplified by your magic."

Magical resistance… wait, was that why-? He sat back, brow furrowed in thought as he considered this new revelation. Actually, that part made some sense. He remembered hearing Szayel tell Byakuya that he required follow up visits because of resistance when he'd first visited the Archmage. But… it was still too difficult to believe. Even if there might have been the possibility…

"From your expression, I see you have reached the appropriate conclusion. Outside of poison taster training, I get you twice a month to renew the curse so I can negate the effects of your resistance," Szayel remarked quietly. Nnoitra's eye flickered up to meet his, narrowing at his self-satisfied expression.

"I'm still not buying it. There could be some other reason. You're a snaky bastard; wouldn't surprise me to hear you've got other ideas. What about the prince, eh? According to what you've just told me, he lacks magical potential. Why do you want him?"

Szayel's expression cooled slightly, becoming a little sharper and a tad more appraising. He seemed to be waiting for something, and Nnoitra's questions didn't look like they sat well with him. The man took another sip of his tea before replying, though he noticed how his fingers twitched slightly.

"You do have a good memory for things, don't you Nnoitra? Yes, I've asked Byakuya to send him down on several occasions for lessons. I never said they were magic lessons. But you are correct; he doesn't possess magical potential, even if he does have beautiful green eyes. He takes more after his father."

"What kind of lessons then?"

Szayel paused, staring over the rim of his teacup at him for a moment. His answer, when it came, was clipped.

"This is between the prince and I. No one else. And regardless of what you think, I will have you in here twice a month to renew the spell, even after you finish your other obligations with me. You can take my word now or later, I don't care."

Ok… so maybe Szayel wasn't playing here. He didn't seem to be joking, and as he pointed out, he'd find out in a couple weeks anyways. Maybe he did have this… magical potential.

No. That was ridiculous. Though he did feel extremely uncomfortable around the man. There was an undeniable instinctive aversion that made his skin crawl just to be in his proximity, like that first visit, when he'd felt afraid and claustrophobic walking down the hall that led to his domain. That had been a spell, he was positive… but could it be that he felt it more strongly because of his supposed sensing abilities? Byakuya had seemed unfazed. Then again, he was probably used to it…

"I'm supposed to be his guard, ya know. That makes his business mine," Nnoitra drawled in return. Szayel smiled with deceptive levity.

"I know you want to kill him, and that you would if you could. We all know. It's no great shock. So I wouldn't say a word if I were you. There's a fine line between pretending not to notice and calling one out on treason, and it's heavily reliant on convenience. Don't press your luck."

"Then why not have me killed now, if that's what you all believe? Why keep me around if I'm a risk?" he demanded, temper growing short. It seemed straightforward enough. He was a known risk. Risks were marginalized. Ergo-

"And here I thought you were a general. Really Nnoitra, it's elementary," said the pink haired mage, raising a finger in demonstration as his lips curved up sweetly, "We have a peace treaty to uphold, and if you're murdered immediately, that does not look good for Mercia. Oh, everyone expects Amistri to try some fool coup attempt, but Mercia has a reputation to maintain. So for the moment, you're safe. If you prove to be someone useful, who knows; they might even keep you around."

…_Oh fuck._

He knew it. He just knew it. And he must have allowed his thoughts to get away and show on his face for Szayel grinned. He'd suspected, somewhere in the back of his mind… but here he was presented with a newfound urgency. And though it wasn't concrete, just the Archmage's musings, he knew them to be true.

_For the moment, you're safe… if you're murdered immediately, that does not look good for Mercia… Ah damn…_

"You look a little pale, Nnoitra. Perhaps a sip of tea will steady your nerves? That always calms me down," the man commented. His voice was undercut with sadistic amusement at his predicament, but it was the false concern he masked it with that really grated on his patience. Gritting his teeth, he stared down at the table, trying to sift through the information he'd been presented and come up with some sort of plan.

So Szayel thought he had magic. If he didn't, it was no loss. But if he did, then great. Wonderful. Splendid. Maybe he could make use of it to break the curse he was under? If he could somehow stall the visits… get out of seeing Szayel… But no. The Archmage wouldn't allow it, he could already tell. The expression on his face when he'd first visited… he wasn't about to let him go. Nnoitra was going to have to figure out a way to blackmail him or win his allegiance. Szayel was turning out to be the single most important person in this game of political intrigue, a game that had suddenly become that much more critical. But he had a chance now, maybe. It was slight, and there was so much he still didn't know. So much he still had to do… but with luck, he could work with this. He had to. With luck-

His eyes bulged as his body suddenly seized up, and Nnoitra bent over, convulsing as a wave of nausea overcame him. Clutching desperately at the table, he tried not to topple backwards in his chair as he retched, body trembling and skin growing clammy and cold.

"What… the fuck?" he gasped weakly as he spat out the bile in his mouth, cringing as he noted there was blood in his spit. Oh. _Shit._

"Ah, so the poison has finally taken effect," Szayel noted with interest as he watched him vomit again. "Hmm, took slightly longer than I'd anticipated, but you are a big man and it would take more time to metabolize..."

"Poison? Aren't… you supposed to be… teaching me how to avoid them?" Nnoitra gasped again as his stomach flared in agony and his vision spun.

"I am. What did you think I called you down for? Company? That one has a delayed reaction time. Did you notice the light citrus scent in the tea? That is its hallmark presentation. If you gargle with it, the tea will taste bitter."

"You… bastard… why aren't you… poisoned?"

Szayel grinned and reached into his robe, pulling out a familiar crystal. This one however was a light, cloudy gray and was engraved with a phoenix insignia.

_God fucking damn it._

"Well poisoning myself does seem rather counterproductive, don't you think?" he remarked teasingly.

Nnoitra had no response for that; he was too busy dry heaving as violent tremors wracked his body. When he managed to right himself, leaning heavily against the table, his breath came in labored, ragged pants.

"And… killing me… isn't?" he finally asked incredulously, black spots peppering his vision.

"Oh no, you aren't going to die by my hand. That really would be a waste. I have countless games lined up for us. We're going to have so much _fun_ together, you and I," Szayel replied, feigning shock that he would even suggest such a thing.

Nnoitra privately wondered how much poison it would take to overcome that stupid crystal and actually kill him as he stared up into his gleaming amber eyes.

"Yeah… right…"

He swayed, feeling his consciousness slipping, and Szayel remarked offhandedly as he collapsed, "Please do me a favor and avoid your vomit when you faint. It would be inconvenient to change your clothes. Ah… too late…"

Nnoitra toppled over, bloody froth foaming from his lips, and Szayel sighed theatrically as he stood and picked his way over to the prone man. Nudging him disdainfully with the toe of his boot, he promptly brought his fingers up to his lips and gave a sharp whistle. Two child-sized beings with elfin features emerged from another room, dashing over to him as they shoved each other playfully and tripped over their own feet without ever managing to actually fall. They continued their rough and tumble game as they stopped in front of him, only straightening to attention as he addressed them.

"Lumina. Verona. Please clean up after our guest. He seems to have made a mess of himself."

"As you wish Szayel Aporro sir," the sprites chirped, dragging him up out of his vomit and looking quite comical as they lifted the lanky man who was many times their size. He stopped them with a raised hand as they prepared to dash off with him.

"Just a moment."

Reaching into his robe, he pulled out a small vial and tipped it down Nnoitra's throat, then motioned for them to take him away. They did so, one grabbing his arms, the other his legs, and they ran off with him like some grand trophy, giggling all the while. Szayel eyed the reeking pool of bile momentarily before wrinkling his nose and striding off. Nnoitra would probably take an hour or two to recover, and it would be clean before that time. Until then, he'd go prepare his next poison.

Ah… it was so nice having a proper plaything again.

* * *

**A/N:** I have to admit that I wrote this chapter at least half a month ago? Probably longer. But I haven't put it up until now because I was unsatisfied with the content of the chapter. Originally, it was choppier because I was on a timeline with the poison. However, I decided to just say "Ah hell" and go with it and smooth it out by adding a bit more content. I'm much happier with it now.

It still feels a little strange to me… but then, my writing always feels strange to me. =/ I'm a terrible judge of my own work. Kudos if you caught the alchemist reference; he'll be in this too. Oh yes, he'll be in this. 3 Pretty much everyone will be in this. (Ok, so I lie… but there _will_ be a crapload of canon characters. Hurhurhur)

Next chapter… I guess I'll see what happens when I write it. :P I'm so totally making this up as I go along. Just following a very general outline/idea thing-a-ma-jig in my head. With luck, I'll get to focus on another character I positively love.

See you in the next update, whenever that happens. I'm getting my butt kicked by Finals right now. *Sobs* Read and review please; you'll make my day. (Who the heck reads this fic anyways? Well aside from the obvious people. You know who you are. I'll shut up now and let you get back to your lives)


	5. Delirium

If there was such a thing as Hell on earth, then this was surely it. Nnoitra drifted between terrible fits of wakefulness and the debilitating agony each new poison brought on. Some were slow and creeping, almost deceptive in their subtlety as they sapped his strength and brought on fever like an illness. Others struck with frightful speed, leaving him gasping on the floor within thirty seconds as his heart fluttered weakly and hallucinations swam before his eye. Sometimes he flailed in his own bile and blood, convulsing spasmodically. Other times, he felt his body go numb and his breathing falter as the poison shut down his nervous system and paralyzed him.

But these individual experiences were nothing. Torture was something he'd been conditioned for psychologically; he would not be undone so easily. No... what really demoralized him were the stretches of lucidity when he could comprehend the situation he was in, because at those moments, he could fully appreciate his vulnerability. Pale, nauseous, and trembling shamefully from the assault on both his body and pride, Nnoitra understood that Szayel would not let him go until he could not take any more. His body could be regenerated and healed as often as the Archmage desired, but his sanity had a breaking point, and it was this that the other man drove him to the brink of with the glee of one who had been there himself.

And even after this session was over, countless more remained. The Kuchikis were in no hurry to have him as their poison taster; if it appealed to Szayel, he could continue this "game" of his for as long as he liked.

Game... the Archmage possessed a uniquely sick sense of humor. Perhaps not in the sense that its sadistic nature was unique, but that the creativity he took with designing his scenarios was. And the way that he carried himself... elegant, genial, theatrical almost... but lurking beneath his polished civility was a darker nature. Szayel's true face was something far less stable. Lord... he wanted to wipe the arrogant smile off his face. He wanted to tie him up, fuck'm up good. Drag a blade through his pretty cheekbones, feed him his own poisons, watch him writhe in his bodily fluids...

Nnoitra wanted to break him, but he knew he couldn't. Even if he had the ability to hurt the man, which he didn't, Szayel was untouchable. Because Szayel was his only way out of this situation, and that fact was enough to bring him close to despair. How could Szayel be won over? It seemed as likely as the Kuchikis magnanimously deciding to release him. The pain became an almost welcome presence because it distracted him from his thoughts and gave him something he could struggle against, however feebly. More welcome still were the fits of merciful blankness that unconsciousness brought, but they were always too brief. Szayel never let him stay unconscious for long, and the tingling in his limbs from the electric jolts Szayel roused him with when he fainted was proof of this.

And then out of the blue... Szayel seemed to decide that Nnoitra had endured enough for one evening. Nnoitra woke to the feel of a damp cloth smoothed over his forehead instead of a vicious shock to his body. Opening his bleary, feverished eye, he made out the features of the Archmage, his pink hair framing his cheeks. Noting that his subject was awake, Szayel smiled pleasantly down at him and sat back.

"I think that I've kept you long enough for one evening. You have remarkable fortitude Nnoitra; I'm afraid I may have gotten a little carried away in my excitement."

Nnoitra licked his lips to moisten them, little good that it did him. His tongue felt dry and sandpapery, the moisture stolen from it by his loss of fluids. His body ached with a need for water that was physically painful. Having anticipated this, Szayel tugged him into a sitting position and passed him a glass of water. By this point, Nnoitra was too dehydrated to care if it was poisoned or not.

"I will call you down in a few days, so take the time to recuperate. I'll be looking forward to our next... session."

Summoning two diminutive creatures to him, Szayel bade them escort him out, and Nnoitra soon found himself on his feet, staggering through Szayel's jungle. They left him at the exit, departing with giggles, and he glared resentfully after the sprites before painstakingly beginning the trek back to his room. The dark hallway was a nightmare to traverse. Leaning heavily against the wall for support, he tried to ignore the way his skin crawled and his throat seemed to close up at the magic that hung thickly in the air. Even after he stumbled through this, he had to navigate the castle half conscious in order to find his way back to his designated bedroom. Fumbling with the door, Nnoitra finally got it open and slunk inside.

As he stood there, body trembling slightly from exertion, he felt a caustic revulsion at his own weakness rise up in him. Damn it! This wasn't right! He hadn't felt this way in years. He wasn't... _weak._.. A bitter hiss shuddered out of him as he detached himself from the doorframe and skulked over to his bed, kicking off his shoes and casting away his soiled clothing as he walked. When he reached it, he flopped down onto the mattress and gazed blindly up at the ceiling, brooding.

His room was mostly lightless, save for the sliver of moonlight splashed across his coverlet. It entered his designated quarters via a narrow window cut into the stone wall. Turning his head, Nnoitra examined it idly, contemplating how it left the castle vulnerable. Little slits such as these were good for ventilation, but if the nobles had anything larger in their rooms for vanity, it was an open invitation for an assassin to creep in and slit their throats while they lay sleeping.

Nnoitra turned his head again, this time glancing over to where the fireplace was. If that bitch maid had really wanted to do her job properly, she would have lit it in the evening. The ex general sneered. What incompetent staff the Kuchikis kept. Mouthy _and_ useless. God, he needed to get out of this fucking place. This was such a mess. Nnoitra dragged a hand over his face and exhaled sourly, grimacing at the taste of bile that lingered on his tongue. But he didn't feel like stumbling around in the dark to find more water. He'd rinse his mouth in the morning. With a sullen grunt, he flipped over onto his stomach and buried his face in his pillow.

_Why did Grimmjow even send me? He damn well knows I hate fucking around with politics. Blue haired bitch._ He could have picked someone else of high station. He didn't have to send the second highest ranking officer in the Amistri army. He didn't have to send _him_.

"Gonna skin that sunova bitch when I get back." Nnoitra growled muffled, mutinous threats into his pillow. It was good stress relief. But hell... he couldn't touch a hair on Grimmjow's head. Not unless he wanted _his_ head removed. Exhaling, Nnoitra glared into his pillow.

It was ironic. As a new recruit, he'd been so ambitious, so eager to rise through the ranks and make something of himself. He didn't want to be one of those market guards or a soldier of fortune. He didn't want to be mediocre or _not good enough._ Nnoitra wanted power. He wanted recognition. He wanted to spit in the faces of everyone who called him Roma gutter trash and watch them writhe under his boot as he gloated. Nnoitra wanted to _be_ someone who _no_ one could order around.

And it had been difficult. The Academy wasn't an easy place to survive in when one had a disability. The first year, he was persecuted mercilessly. But he had something none of those Academy brats had. He'd already been surviving for years in the most cutthroat districts of Amistri, and no wellborn pieces of shit were gonna crush him down. He'd more than shown them... he'd caught the attention of the man who would become the prime war general of the Amistrian army, and while riding the coattails of another to power wasn't his idea of a perfect victory, he wasn't too proud to take advantage of opportunity when it presented itself.

The things he'd done to get there... they didn't matter. Didn't matter _how _he'd clawed his way up from the slums to one of the most exalted positions in the empire. He'd gotten there... and he'd soon realized that instead of being free, he'd only succeeded in binding himself more tightly. When he was a soldier, he obeyed his commanding officer. When he was a general, he bowed his head to the bureaucracy of an empire. He was expected to behave with decorum. He was collared by laws and politics.

Nnoitra chafed under these restrictions, these responsibilities. And he resented being leashed and paraded about like a favored pet. Fuck, he was no aristocrat. He wasn't interested in sitting pretty with a decorative sword on his hip and silk on his body. He was a soldier. Always would be. He preferred the adrenaline rush of a battle to tedious meetings any day. This job Grimmjow had sent him on... this was the worst possible assignment he could have given him.

With a final, disparaging grumble, Nnoitra shifted to lie on his side and pull the covers over his body. As he closed his eye, he swore he saw the ornate tapestry that decorated the wall flutter... but his weary mind informed him that this was impossible. The breeze circulating through his room was very light, and the tapestry was weighty... and he was really too tired to care much further than that.

-.-.-.-.-.-

Waking up was a bitch. The instant he came to, Nnoitra was assaulted by one of the worst migraines of his life.

_Ah... shit..._

It was like having a really bad hangover, with the added benefit of flu-like symptoms. His entire body ached, and his skin was damp with perspiration. The sickness had overtaken him during the night, rendering his limbs feeble with febrile weakness. Flushed and burning up, but thankfully free of nausea, Nnoitra lay in bed, wishing he could die and escape the pounding headache that split his head and the chills that shivered through him. Hot… cold… hot… cold… and thirsty as hell. Squinting, he searched for the pitcher of water he knew was somewhere and located it on his dresser.

_Too far…_ he dreaded the prospect of getting up and walking over to get it. But his thirst was inexorable. His throat felt like it would shrivel up and close at any moment, and he was half crazed with fever, so after another minute of cursing, Nnoitra sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed. As his bare feet touched down on the chilly floor, Nnoitra's body gave a particularly violent shudder that left him gripping the edge of the mattress and panting.

"Damn it…" he breathed, refusing to whimper as he rose shakily and took a step, almost immediately falling back on his ass. He clung to the bed frame, lips pulled down in a grimace of pain and resentment. That fucking mage… he'd done this to him. Pushed his body farther than it could handle.

A touch of hysteria brought a burble of laughter to his lips as he leaned his face into his upturned palm. Brought to such a state by a fruity bastard like him? Pathetic. Oh… he was losing his touch... Staggering to his feet again, Nnoitra wove unsteadily over to the dresser, leaning against it heavily when he arrived. Not bothering with the cup, he grabbed the water pitcher and drank it straight, managing to spill some of it on himself in the process. He didn't care that it dribbled down his bare chest; the cool water felt good. He only broke away to suck in a sorely needed breath of air.

Sated for the moment, the man let his head rest in his arms and just stood there. He didn't want to get dressed… he didn't want to put up with His Royal Apathy. He just wanted to sleep this off. Cause no one really cared whether he showed up or not… it was just that they were playing this game. Keeping up appearances. Pretending peace and diplomacy. Just the kind of shit he hated. With a reluctant groan, he detached himself from the dresser and swayed on his feet for a moment before finding his balance and walking over to his trunk.

He pulled out clothes by feel, noticing only when he brought them over to the bed that his shirt was way too purple and flashy and damn Grimmjow for having a twisted sense of humor and why the fuck couldn't he have chosen something less eye-bleedingly bright? Fuck it, he was wearing a leather vest over this, and screw proper palace attire at least the pants were a respectable color but that still didn't make up for the shirt and god _damn_ did his head hurt and why did the laces have to be so hard to tie and his fingers so slippery and clumsy today? Nnoitra shoved his feet into boots, strapped on a short sword, and left his room, half reeling as he walked.

He didn't have the patience to knock lightly on Ulquiorra's door. His fist fell against the wood in a single, heavy _thunk_, after which he waited. Nnoitra heard the faint sound of footsteps as Ulquiorra approached, followed by a soft scraping as the door was opened. Ulquiorra peered up at him, expression as indifferent as usual. After a moment, the pale man made a most perceptive observation.

"You look like shit."

_Ha ha._ Wasn't _he_ charming?

"Good mornin' to ya too, princeling," Nnoitra replied sarcastically.

"Don't breathe on me. Your mouth smells like a cesspit."

"Pardon. Yer mage pet almost killed me."

"Perhaps he should have," Ulquiorra replied in a flat, emotionless tone as he eyed him with distaste. Nnoitra sneered, grinding his tombstone teeth.

"Ya, perhaps he should have," Nnoitra agreed. Ulquiorra's lips thinned, and he turned away after another moment, walking back over to a tall mirror where he resumed combing out his hair. Not that it needed fixing; it looked well enough the way it was.

"Come in and close the door. And lose the attitude. You forget your place, Gilga," the prince said. Nnoitra obeyed, reluctantly, wishing he could have been assigned to someone else. _Anyone_ else. Hell… he might have even tolerated being the princess' guard, much as he held women in contempt. "There's something I'd like to discuss with you."

"Yeah?"

Nnoitra had a pretty good idea what this "discussion" would be about, and his stomach twisted unpleasantly.

"Yesterday afternoon, we visited a certain establishment. There was a business transaction conducted. I want that kept private. No one else is to know," Ulquiorra said. Nnoitra's lips quirked up in amusement despite his painful headache. Business transaction. Cute. Real cute. So they were playing with euphemisms now.

"Didn't plan on tellin'," Nnoitra replied gruffly when the prince looked over at him for confirmation. "Anythin' else?"

"No." It was a long, awkward minute before Ulquiorra replied, but when he did, he answer was tacit. Setting aside the comb, he turned back to Nnoitra. "That was all. Go sleep. I will inform my father that you are ill today."

Brushing past him, the young royal left the room. The wordless dismissal was clear; Ulquiorra had no need of him and did not want him hanging about. Which suited Nnoitra just fine. Pulling the door shut behind him, Nnoitra trooped back down the hall to his room. He paused long enough to light a fire in the grate, though he nearly burned himself in the process, tired as he was. Sucking a slightly singed thumb, Nnoitra ambled over to bed, shucking his shoes, vest, shirt, and belt and rolling into bed for more well needed rest.

In hindsight, he should have realized he wouldn't be left to his own devices the whole day.

* * *

**A/N:** Orz, I haven't updated in a while. I'm sorry the first thing I have to give you guys to read is a measly, skimpy, fillery filler chapter.

Xylexia, I promise I will write awesome things for your story in the future. This just isn't one of those awesome things. Ryoko, I'm afraid you're going to have to continue your quest, for this chapter isn't particularly interesting.

That aside, hello to any new readers who found this via the beautiful fanart Xylexia commissioned for this fic. If anyone hasn't checked it out, you can see it here (be sure to take out the spaces, since FF.N likes to eat links):

ht tp: / / moni158 . devian tart. com / gallery / ?off set = 24# / d3k883q

Next chapter should be more interesting. If my muse cooperates, you should get to meet a few new characters and get a better look at one you've already met. And hopefully the next update won't take nearly so long.

PS. I don't know if editing a chapter and replacing content sends out a message. If it does, I apologize for any possible notifications editing may generate.


	6. Tea Party

The knock on his door earned an irritated grunt at first. He was sleeping. His orderlies knew to leave him alone when he was sleeping. But the knocking came again, obnoxiously persistent. Nnoitra turned over and pulled the covers over his head, still refusing to answer the summons. Was probably Tesla… annoying little shit. Burrowing into his pillow, he tried to get back to sleep…

_**Thunk**_

Nnoitra's eye flew open as the door shuddered with a particularly forceful knock. Growling, the ex general threw off his covers and rolled out of bed, remembering as he marched across the unfamiliar room that he wasn't at home. This was Mercia, and whoever was knocking on his door better have the balls to back up that damn disrespectful pounding. Yanking open the door, he glared down at the maid who stood there, then sneered as he recognized her.

"Didn't I tell ya to fuck off already? I don't need ya to light my fireplace."

The maid looked distinctly unimpressed by his menacing look and hostile posture. Gone was that nervous little thing from their first meeting. While she remained polite, it was a very thin veneer of civility that she wore. She again offered his bare chest a dirty look before replying in clipped tones.

"I'm only here to inform you that the princess has insisted upon your company."

She muttered something else underneath her breath along the lines of _god knows why_, but Nnoitra wasn't really paying attention to her anymore. The princess wanted his company? Ah damn it, he was really being woken up for _this_ shit?

"Tell her she can find someone else ta play with. I'm recuperatin'," he replied.

The maid smirked, and a moment later, Nnoitra understood why.

"She also told me to mention that if you felt too ill to show, she'd go and ask Szayel for something to help you feel better."

The ex general stood there, swaying slightly on his feet as he absorbed both the threat and the extreme satisfaction with which the woman delivered it. And while it killed him to concede to the princess' blackmail, he really didn't want Szayel putting anything else in him.

"Fine," he rumbled, shooting her a scathing look, "Tell 'er I'm coming. Lemme get dressed."

"Appropriately, if you please. Sir," she replied, adding the respectful title almost as an afterthought. As Nnoitra turned away, she spoke up again, sounding reluctant to deliver directions. "It's down the hall. Just follow the stairs up. Her room is at the top."

Nnoitra was reminded all over again why he avoided women as he shut the door on her. Passive aggressive bitches. If he ever got the chance to murder the Kuchikis, he'd off their impertinent maid as well. He was torn between making it drawn out and bloody, or very short and impersonal, since something of such low station didn't really deserve his attention. Maybe he'd wait til they took Mercia and have one of his soldiers do it. Yeah… that sounded pretty fucking nice actually. Grinning at the idea, Nnoitra fetched his abandoned clothes and pulled them back on, though he was hit by the smell of his soiled clothing as he did so.

Ugh… he didn't have much in the way of outfits, so he'd have to be careful about them. Who did the laundry anyways? Ah hell… he'd probably have to pay a tailor to make him some new clothes, much as he hated paying for clothing. Money could be put to better use, but he was supposed to be keeping up his appearance. Running a comb through his hair to make himself look presentable, he marched out of his room, still feeling sullen about the blackmail.

As he walked down the hallway, he privately wondered if the king and queen had suites here too, since the prince and princess lived relatively close by. Though "relatively" began to seem distant as the hall continued without end. He almost missed the staircase, small as it was. He didn't know what he'd been expecting. Something grander perhaps? But no. It was just a series of little stone steps that wound up and around, meandering in a twisted fashion, lit by the same magical sconces that he'd found in the rest of the palace. And if he'd thought the hallway was long, these seemed to go on forever. The princess must have a remarkably… athletic constitution if she climbed and descended these each day.

There were doors occasionally, leading off to unknown parts, but he ignored these. She was, after all, at the top. But as he went, he couldn't help but wonder at the architecture of the place. These stairs felt… strange. They weren't the wraparound build found between levels, nor the spiraling stairwell of a tower. Their pattern was seemingly random, sometimes straight, sometimes crooked and winding, and he quickly lost all sense of direction. The Mercian palace was a nightmare for those unfamiliar with its build, as he was. And though he wouldn't admit it… still weak from his poisoning, he was beginning to feel tired. So it was with relief that Nnoitra finally reached his intended destination. There, at the top of the stairs, was a landing. And at the end of that landing, there was a door.

It was painted a deep rose hue.

Nnoitra just stopped and wondered at the unusual dichotomy the Mercian princess presented. On one hand, she seemed every bit the frivolous noble woman she was supposed to be. On the other… he couldn't imagine a princess climbing those steps multiple times a day. Again, he was reminded that these royals were not the typical crop of idle-brained, self-entitled fops. Though… it was entirely possible that there was another way to her room and that maid had given him the hardest way out of spite. Catching his breath, which was slightly uneven by this point, Nnoitra knocked.

An extraordinarily petite woman opened the door a few moments later, gazing up at him with serene indigo eyes. Her skin was fair and her hair black, and altogether, her demeanor reminded him greatly of the king.

"Rukia, is that him?" the familiar, bright voice of the princess called from somewhere further inside. Rukia glanced over her shoulder, then back up at him, before finally stepping aside to admit him.

"Yes, it is. And I still disapprove of this venture," the woman replied quietly. Her voice was much deeper than he would have expected, but it wasn't masculine. It was just… rich. She must have been older than she looked.

"Oh good! I've been waiting forever."

"Perhaps you should consider relocating, princess? Your quarters are a little… out of the way…"

"But that's no fun Rukia. I like my room. Plus it means I don't get interrupted often."

"Of course…"

"It's like my very own fortress stronghold! Isn't that neat?"

"Actually princess, it makes ya vulnerable," Nnoitra cut in, interrupting their rather onesided dialogue. Yachiru seemed to be dominating the conversation, completely ignoring any valid points her companion brought up. And as he stepped further inside her quarters, he confirmed this point.

While it wasn't a tower, it might as well have been one. The door he'd gone through was the only entrance to her room, which was very large and round in shape. A full quarter of it was taken up by curved glass doors that opened up onto a balcony with assorted potted plants. He'd investigate later to orient himself.

"No it doesn't," she replied petulantly. She was seated… or rather, kneeling on a plush pillow before a low-slung table in the middle of the room. There was a small platter of pastries, and a pot of tea steamed gently atop a heated tea stand, which kept it warm. Nnoitra's stomach tightened at the sight of it. Tea… pink hair…. His body panged at the memories. Gritting his teeth, he forced himself to walk over and sit down cross legged on the provided pillow.

"Yes. It does. And would ya care to explain why ya dragged me all the way up to have a tea party?"

"What's wrong with tea parties?" she replied with a disarming smile as she reached over to pour herself a cup. Nnoitra's was already set up, and when she'd finished serving herself, she brought the teapot over to hover near his cup. "Would you like some?" the princess offered.

"No."

She poured him tea anyways.

Bitch.

"Don't tell me you don't like tea," she warbled cheerfully as she set the pot back on the stand and moved it to the side, "Ulqui loves it, so you're in trouble if you don't develop a taste for it."

"Pardon princess, but I was put off it fer good last night," he replied sourly as he eyed the liquid. She didn't seem like the type to poison someone's tea… but….

"Oh right! You were with Szayel. Yeah, he's kind of funny about that kind of thing when he gets excited. I think he's taken a liking to you."

"He what?" Nnoitra asked, eyes narrowing. How did she know anyways?

"Well he doesn't usually spend so much time with new poison testers. Did you two talk?"

"Yeah… how do you know we spent 'so much time' together?"

The princess appeared to ignore his question, looking suitably impressed by his reply.

"Wow. He's definitely interested then. He rarely 'deigns to grace the common servants' with his attentions," she said, putting on airs as she mimicked his attitude, then giggled when she'd finished.

Nnoitra's mood wasn't nearly so effervescent. He stared across the table at the girl, lips curving down unconsciously.

"And… what does this 'interest' mean?" he asked, unsettled. The princess looked up from her tea and offered him a cheeky smile.

"Oh, just that you're in for hell."

"Yachiru," Rukia cut in, reprimanding. The princess pouted, looking over at what Nnoitra now guessed to be her lady in waiting.

"Aw, Rukia. I was being nice too. I could have used a worse word."

"Such words are not suited to a lady of stature," Rukia replied.

"Oh don't be a wet blanket. I know you have a sense of humor deep down."

"I am preparing you for life as a queen. No one will marry such a wild woman. You will bring dishonor to your parents."

Yachiru's playful smile faltered, and her mood abruptly changed. Her eyes went to the teacup she held, boring into the amber liquid as if she could lose herself in its depths. Her posture was stiff, hunted, and her delicate hands trembled ever so slightly, though Nnoitra couldn't name the emotion. Not immediately anyways. Her voice gave it away soon enough.

"Yeah? Well that's bullshit, Rukia. Cuz I'm the princess of Mercia. And if they want political ties to our wealth… if they want an alliance with us… then they can just suck it up and accept what they get. I'm not going to be someone I'm not just to make someone else happy, since I'm never going to be happy. I refuse to be an ornament," Yachiru replied quietly, but her words oozed with resentment.

She drank her tea then, not speaking up again until she'd finished it off. Her fingers still shook with tightly leashed anger and energy as she poured herself a new cup, but she didn't explode. She remained quite controlled. Tense perhaps, and scowling ever so slightly, but controlled.

"I want to chat with Nnoitra alone," was all the princess said when she did find her voice again. She didn't meet the small woman's eyes, though Rukia offered her a look of resignation.

"Yes, my lady," she replied. As she departed, sadness seemed to swathe her dainty form, but it might have been nothing more than his imagination. Nnoitra was left in an awkward atmosphere after their little spat with the distinct impression that this was a long running argument, something that had been festering for years. He raised an eyebrow at the recalcitrant girl before him, who still brooded over her tea and the pastries, which she'd dug into now.

"So, the little Mercian princess is unsatisfied with her lot," he said, tone slightly mocking. She was throwing a fuss over this? She would be cared for her entire life. She would never see hardship. It was petty gripes like this he found so amusing… and so irritating.

Yachiru looked up, gaze cutting.

"Do not mock me. You are not a woman. You could never understand."

"Thank god I don't have to."

"So you're a misogynist. Figures. Doesn't Amistri have female soldiers though?"

"We have a few. Those who are crazy enough to throw themselves into a unit. Girls are encouraged to attend the Academy for the first five or six years. It gives them better character, makes them better members of society. But past that, women don't have a place in war. The ones who push forward and make it… they were born into the wrong bodies. Should have been men."

The princess seemed to take offense at this statement, for she promptly rose, hands clenched as she looked down at him. He stared back up at her, entertained by this indignant display.

"You're wrong," she insisted hotly, crossing her arms, "Because I know that women are just as capable as men in a fight. I'd like to see you take on my mother."

"Your _mother_?" Nnoitra almost laughed. Then he remembered the unease he felt when he'd met her gaze.

"Yeah, queen Yoruichi."

… _Yoruichi…_ That name… No… couldn't be…

"The queen's name is Yoruichi?" he asked, disbelieving.

"Are you daft? I just said it was. Anyways, my mum could trounce you any day."

"The general of Mercia… the one who orchestrated your troops… was a woman?"

"Still is, last time I checked," Yachiru said sarcastically, but she was smiling again, apparently pleased that he was so surprised, "But yeah, she's the defacto war general when stuff like that happens. Didn't you know? She Amazonian."

"Oh fuck… that's just… we never saw her. We thought she was a man," Nnoitra said, stumbling over his words.

"Well do you really think father would send his wife into battle? They compromised. You should have seen her too. She wanted to be out there."

"Ah shit… this is humiliating…"

"Oh get off your high horse and accept that you lost to a woman."

"How did Byakuya end up with an Amazon bride?" Nnoitra demanded. He'd heard of the matriarchal nation, but they were secretive and resisted outside incursions with legendary fierceness. The bow and arrow were their primary weapon of choice, but it was rumored that they were quite adept with hand to hand combat as well. And strangely enough… the nationality of the king's bride had never really been publicized. She'd remained an enigmatic figure. Perhaps this explained it.

"We were the most convenient nation to ally with. Amazonia doesn't lack for military might or resources, but she does require a trading partner for certain types of manufactured goods. The Amazons may be reclusive, but they aren't foolish. They know that if they don't keep abreast of technological advances, they will be left behind by progress and eventually conquered. So they're starting to come out of isolation," Yachiru explained. She seemed rather knowledgeable for a princess. Definitely not as airheaded as she acted. Hm…

"It's still damn shameful that we lost to you, a merchant nation," he grumbled. Yachiru rolled her eyes and sat down again, reaching for a pastry.

"Look, there are reasons why we still exist. Why some other nation hasn't taken us over yet. Your loss just cemented our credibility, that's all."

"Oh really? I suppose Mercia has a network of agents listening for murmurs of treachery and war? Crushing that dissent before it has a chance ta become something?"

Yachiru smiled, lips tipping up and eyes sparkling at his skeptical comment. Her expression made him wonder.

"Now why would I tell you? I mean, you're here to kill us after all, right?"

She leaned in conspiratorially, looking positively thrilled by the idea that she was sharing tea with her would be assassin. Nnoitra blinked, sitting back and putting distance between them.

"For fucks sake, what is wrong with you people?" he said after recovering from his initial surprise. Did everyone know? Apparently so. Because if the princess was telling him so blatantly, he could be sure the other royals were aware.

"Hm? What do you mean? I think it's exciting. You're bound to be amazing since you were the one sent to murder us. They don't send just anyone to murder nobility," she said as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

"You're not supposed to think it's 'exciting,'" he hissed, "You're supposed ta do away with me. That's what happens to assassins. They either do the job, or they get done in themselves."

"But that's no fun either," she said, grinning up at him. She looked about ready to burst with energy. "See, if we killed you, then I wouldn't be able to ask a favor from you."

A favor. So, they'd come to the real reason for why he was here. Nnoitra's eye narrowed as he regarded the excitable girl, wondering what it was she would ask.

"What d'ya want from me?"

"Promise not to laugh?" she asked, giving him a fierce look in turn.

"Depends on what ya ask."

"Fine."

Yachiru gathered herself up, standing again and looking every bit the princess she was. It was hard to take her that way sometimes; she didn't act particularly regal with her casual way of speaking and her habit of wearing her emotions on her sleeve. But standing now, she suddenly took on a stately air. Pointing straight at him, she ordered, "Teach me how to fight."

There was a pause as Nnoitra processed her request- though really, it was more of an order –before reacting.

"Yer jokin', right?" he sneered.

"Do I look like I am?" the princess replied, looking down at him seriously. The look in her eyes was absolutely dead set. Nnoitra whistled.

"Yer fuckin' mental, girl."

"I'm quite sane, thank you very much," she retorted, scowling. He grinned.

"Princess, ya couldn't handle me if ya wanted to."

"I thought you might say something like that, so I came prepared to bargain."

"Oh really? Cuz I can promise ya there ain't nothing you got to bargain with."

It was Yachiru's turn to smile, and she did so promptly, beaming with the secret knowledge that she did indeed have a bargaining chip or two.

"But that's where you're wrong. I know the situation you've gotten yourself into with Ulqui. Brother's got a few… odd tastes. Now he's interested in you too. Same kind of interest Szayel has. And Nnoi, you're going to need all the help you can get with those two."

When he still looked at her strangely, she sighed in exasperation, whirling around and marching over to her dresser. Yanking it open, she began to pull out clothes, which he idly noted looked remarkably unfeminine.

"I can see you're not going to understand unless I show you," she grumbled to herself.

"No… I get it. I think. I just don't get… how? How do you know?" he said, trying to understand. Was this common knowledge? Or did she have particular connections? She didn't seem like some isolated girl who spent her days locked away in her room. She seemed too informed, too…

"Because I talk to people. Because I want to know what's happening in my own kingdom. Because I want to be someone… not a pretty china doll, too fragile and too ignorant to help herself. And because some day, I _will_ be someone's possession. Someone's pawn. This is the society I was raised in, and these are the expectations set out for me as a 'lady of stature.' I wish to god I could have been born in Amazonia, but I wasn't, so I have to make do. And if mother won't teach me, then I'll teach myself."

Yachiru leaned against her dresser, hands clenched up again. She was a bit more vitriolic now that her maid was gone, and there was something about that sharp honesty that appealed to him. He did lift an eyebrow as she glanced over her shoulder at him, eyes clear and appraising.

"Come help me with my dress. I want to change."

"You sure that's proper, milady? Letting a man undress you?" he drawled, casting her a lewd look. She sniffed haughtily at him.

"All of a sudden you're talking formal. You don't fool me. Up until now, you've been comfortable around me, haven't you? Anyways, Rukia's not here… she's the one who usually helps me, so you'll have to do."

And… to his surprise, she was right. He hadn't thought about it. He'd been blunt with Ulquiorra earlier this morning due to his illness, and the maid wasn't worth the effort, vindictive bitch. But the princess? What excuse did he have with her? From the start, they'd been bantering. Must've been the way she talked. She didn't talk like royalty.

"Oh for the love of- Nnoitra, I order you to help me take this goddamn corset off or so help me I will-"

Her tirade was cut off as said garment restricted her breath, forcing her to lean against her dresser as she fought off a faint. When she'd finally cooled off a tad and collected herself, she straightened again, offering him a rueful smile.

"Please?"

Oh. Wasn't _she_ cute._ Bipolar_ was what she was….

"Mm… what were you gonna threaten?" he asked.

"Ah… well… recently I've been getting pretty good at knots."

"Sounds kinky."

"Not _that_ way you pervert."

"So?" he inquired, rising from his cross legged position to stalk over to her languidly.

"Well, I was going to threaten to tie you to Moonwhisper's saddle and let him take you for a bit of a ride," she admitted as he reached her. Finding the laces on her corset, he began to undo them. She didn't seem particularly concerned to have him unlacing her dress.

"Oh yeah? Little bitty thing like you, manhandling me?"

She tilted her head back, looking up at him. With her odd hair color, it was reassuring to look into eyes of a perfectly normal color. They were a warm shade, a kind of mahogany brown and bright with personality. She smiled up at him charmingly before straightening and replying.

"Well, that's what Yammy's for. I figure if he can manhandle dangerous beasts, he can manhandle you too."

"Huh… so why'd you name that monster Moonwhisper anyways?" Nnoitra asked, humoring her for the moment. No one could manhandle him. Didn't matter how bulky or intimidating they looked.

"I think it's a pretty name, don't you?" was her rather disarming reply, "And he's not a monster. He's a sweety."

"Sweety?" There were many adjectives he could think of using with the unicorn. Sweety was not one of them. Not by a longshot. He distantly recalled Yammy's words: _the princess fell in love with'm as soon as she lay eyes on him, bless her heart._ Oh yes. That clinched it. She was a strange girl, like the rest of her family apparently.

"Yes! Oh, I know. I'll take you to the royal bestiary and introduce you to the others. We can talk there."

Nnoitra finished undoing her corset laces and as the garment sagged, she gave him a little shove backwards, holding up the front of her dress with her other hand.

"Go turn around. I don't want you looking."

"Mm… yer placin' an inordinate amount of faith in a 'pervert' as you say."

"Yeah, but I know you're screwed if you harm me. And in case you were wondering, harm in the case of your particular curse is subjective. It's defined by both your intentions and by the person on the receiving end of the action."

"Lookin' never harmed no one," he retorted.

"Yeah… well it makes me feel dirty. And I don't want you thinking of me as female."

"Tch, little girl like you don't interest me anyhow," he said, but turned. It was true, too. Young young women weren't really his thing. 'Specially not girls who'd get his ass in all sorts of trouble. Now her _mother_ on the other hand… haha, still not worth the pain, but she was more up his alley.

Behind him, cloth rustled as the princess dressed.

"Ok…" she said after a minute, "Done. You can look now."

He turned, regarding her change in appearance. He supposed she looked fairly boyish in her new garb, dressed in a doublet and pants. Her feet were now stuffed into boots, though they couldn't hide how dainty her feet were, and her face was too feminine to pass as a boy's. Though she'd bound her chest, at best, she would be considered androgynous. Especially with that ridiculous hair color.

… which reminded him. Magic. She had it, or at least, she had the potential. And he wondered… did she perhaps have something more? Did she somehow express it unconsciously like he? It was just too strange… how he'd relaxed around her without thinking until she'd pointed it out. And he didn't like it… didn't like the idea that he might have been manipulated somehow without knowing.

"Ya look good kid," he said as she waited expectantly for some reaction. What the hell. He'd throw her a bone. Tell her what she wanted to hear. At his words, she brightened.

"Really? You know, I always wanted to be a boy, since no one is going to take me seriously as a girl in this society. I mean, if there was any conceivable chance I could run away to Amazonia, I would do it, but there isn't really, so I'm being realistic. I keep asking Szayel but he refuses to turn me into one. Says he can't, but I know he's lying. He's an Archmage. He can do practically anything."

Szayel… urgh… But that reminded him…

"Yer bargain. Ya never did get around to finishing it," he reminded her, and she frowned, smacking a fist into the flat of her other hand.

"Oh that's right. Damn, I got distracted. Well see, you've got something I want, and I've got something you need. I figure, let's strike a deal, right? You teach me how to fight, and I'll help you survive here. You're a lone assassin, trapped in a castle full of enemies. And you've managed to attract the interest of both brother and Szayel. And as I'm pretty sure you've learned, they're both sadists, though Ulqui's a closet sadist since he's _supposed_ to be all proper and princely. So things are looking pretty grim for you right now. Between the two of them, they'll eat you alive. But that's where I come in!"

She grinned, plucking something off her dresser top and walking over to her closet. It was, he noticed, an antiquated looking skeleton key dangling from a ribbon looped through the top.

"You need an ally, Nnoitra. Someone with connections, and who doesn't want to see you writhing in pain or dead."

She turned the key, and there was a click as the closet unlocked. He frowned, skeptical.

"I don't see how that helps me. What I need is a way to kill you lot, not-"

His words died on his lips.

Yachiru opened the door, and what waited on the other side was definitely not a closet. As she removed her key and tucked it into her shirt, she indicated he should pass through, looking gleeful.

"I knew I'd have to show you. Hear me out before you judge, Nnoitra. This castle has secrets… and if you have the patience, I can acquaint you with them too."

As he stared into the darkness, gathering his thoughts, he was forced to reconsider the slight young woman before him and her whimsical offer. Crazy little bitch. She was off her fuckin' rockers, but… she laid a rather persuasive premise.

"Alright princess. I'm listenin'," Nnoitra finally said.

* * *

**A/N:** Ah… I finally got to introduce you to one of my favorite characters in this fic. Lucky ducks, it's thanks to her that you get a fast update. My muse is rather fond if this character's quirks.

Yes, you may diagnose her with typical modern princess angst, though she also harbors some atypical genderbending desires. Whether she will get her wish some day remains to be seen. I think the rest of the chapter is pretty self explanatory.

See you in the next update, which may or may not be soon. Depends on how distracted I get by roleplaying. *Glees* *w* Xylexia dear, I swear I'll pay you more attention now that I'm done with this chapter. Hope you like it


	7. Ramble

"Thank god too, I was starting to wonder if I'd ever get through to you," the princess said as she pushed him through the door. As soon as they were both through, Yachiru turned around to lock the door behind them.

"What is this place?" Nnoitra asked. His skin prickled, and he couldn't see anything except the young woman who accompanied him. Everything else was swallowed by darkness. Even the door melted back into the void as soon as she locked it.

"Nowhere and everywhere. Szayel calls it the shadow path."

"No cryptic shit, girl. I've had enough of it from your Archmage pet."

"I'm not 'girl.' I'm Yachiru," the princess said as she walked up to him. She reached for his hand, threading her fingers through his.

Nnoitra balked, pulling his hand away.

"The fuck you need ta hold my hand for?"

"Ugh, you're such a moron. I'm holding your hand so you don't get lost in here. If you don't have a concrete destination in mind, you'll never find the way out. That's the way the magic works."

"Hold on… this can take you anywhere?"

"Anywhere with a door."

That was ridiculously powerful magic. It had to be, or he would have heard of it by now. If it was something any mid-level mage could access, there'd be a hell of a lot more nobles dead from successful assassinations. The real question was why did the Mercian princess have access to it? Before he could voice his question, he felt the girl take his hand again. This time, he let her.

Hers was so tiny compared to his hand, and cool. Her fingers and palm were soft from never having worked a day in her privileged life. If she really expected him to teach her how to handle a weapon, she was going to have to ruin her hands with callouses. The whole notion was still pretty stupid, but if she insisted…

"Why do you have that key?"

"Mm… well, actually, I have a deal with Szayel," the princess said.

"Why'd he be interested in you?"

"I'm supposed to use this key to visit him for magic lessons. Father doesn't really want him to talk to me, so to get around that, Szayel gave me the key to open the path. The deal says that if I visit him at least twice a month, I can use it for whatever I want the rest of the time."

So that was how she got out.

She looked a little uncomfortable about admitting to these illicit meetings with the Archmage, glancing up at him furtively every now and then. He didn't blame her either. Here she was, telling someone she wasn't quite sure she could trust not to tell Byakuya. When she opened her mouth again presumably to blurt out some threat, Nnoitra cut her off.

"Snitching on you ain't in my best interest, princess."

"Yeah? …Well good."

"Ya talk too much. Need to learn to keep your mouth shut if you don't want people knowing things."

"I'm not really used to that," she admitted. "Usually, I'm the one asking questions. But I'll try harder."

Something seemed to be forming in the distance. Something door shaped, though it was very different from Yachiru's closet door. This one looked more like a wrought iron gate.

Amistri definitely needed to get her hands on this magic. Imagine how efficiently troops could be moved with it, or how it would simplify his mission if only he could end the curse on him. Actually… if he took the princess' key, he could escape back to Amistri and-

… no. That would throw off Grimmjow's plans. And it was shameful to flee. Not yet. He'd only take that route if he had no other option left.

"I probably shouldn't have showed you this place, since you're supposed to kill me." Yachiru suddenly spoke up, surprising him. Her voice was strangely subdued, given her typical spunk.

"Ya seemed so excited about the idea earlier. Changed your mind?"

"Nah… it's still pretty cool. You better not steal my key though. I'll tell Szayel if you do."

Yachiru finally drew up to the gate and reached for the lock. The skeleton key slipped inside, and with a twist, the gate unlocked. Sunlight filtered into the shadow path as she opened it. The girl turned to look at him as she held it for him, a smile gracing her lips.

"Anyways, I present to you the Royal Menagerie- my favorite place in all of Mercia."

It took Nnoitra's eye a moment to adjust after he stepped through the gate. He might as well have remained blind for all the good it did him when he was able to make out the details of his new surroundings. Nnoitra wished he had a more substantial weapon on him.

"Shit, princess, why are we in one of the exhibits?"

"Relax, Nnoi. He won't eat you, unless you make a total ass of yourself."

Relax? They were just a few feet away from one of the largest monsters he'd ever seen. Of all the moronic statements he'd heard her make, this was by far the most stupid. And there she went. Traipsing up to the thing, arms outstretched to embrace it… Well fuck. There went the only person who was trying to help him in this godforsaken country.

… Except, as he watched her throw arms around the beast, she didn't come to an untimely, smoldering demise. And it occurred to him that if she got along with Moonwhisper, she just might have the charisma to get along with a dragon too. It certainly seemed like this was the case, because even after she stepped away from it, it made no move to snap her up in its jaws, or disembowel her, or generally behave in a fashion that might be construed as menacing. As she turned back towards him, the princess stuck her tongue out at him.

"Well come over and say hello. It's rude to stare."

"Hello." He'd stare as much as he liked. And he wouldn't be moving any closer.

"It's cowardly to just stand there." Yachiru smirked.

Oh fucking hell no. Nnoitra sneered and sauntered right up to the dragon. It seemed tame enough. If a woman could handle it, he had no reason to feel intimidated.

"Happy, princess?" he drawled.

"Oh yes. Much better," she replied with a bright smile, "Now introduce yourself."

Nnoitra sized up the dragon, hands stuffed nonchalantly in his pockets. Hell… he hoped he wasn't getting dragged all over the menagerie to meet each of Yachiru's pets.

"Nnoitra Gilga, former vice general of Amistri."

"_Androfel Bitterwings, former Scourge of the Western lands."_

"You? You're Bitterwings?" This… tame pet in a menagerie?

"_I prefer Androfel."_

"I call him Andy,"said Yachiru helpfully.

"_Androfel." _The reprimand sounded weary, as if it had been repeated countless times.

"You don't like Andy? I think it sounds cute."

Smoke curled from its jaws as the dragon exhaled and closed its eyes. A long moment later, it opened them again to assess the girl with a dispassionate look.

"_Androfel,"_ it reiterated, then curled up in a patch of sunlight and proceeded to ignore them.

"Don't mind Andy," Yachiru said as she watched the dragon's tail flick over its nose, much like a sleeping cat, "He's just a little grouchy sometimes. See, Szayel came poking around the other day for reagents, and he doesn't much like giving up blood or scales. Come to think of it, he doesn't much care for Szayel period."

"Can't imagine why not."

"Hehe, Moonwhisper doesn't really like Szayel either. He always tries to gore him when he wants a few strands of his mane. He makes me get them for him when Moon is in a particularly nasty mood cuz unicorns are resistant to his magic."

Alright, Nnoitra had to grin at that image. He could just picture the mage dodging the vicious animal's horn and getting his immaculate robes ruined in the process. Fuckin' bitch, making a princess do his dirty work. Some Archmage he was.

"Think I'm starting to develop a fondness for your hell pony, princess."

"He's not a hell pony. He's my beautiful boy, and I will not stand to hear him insulted like that. I mean, at least call him a hell horse. That's more dignified than pony."

"Whatever. Can ya at least put in a good word for me? Don't want to get stabbed through the gut next time I have to…. go somewhere with brother dearest."

At this point, he could only cross his fingers and hope that wouldn't happen anytime soon. But with the way his luck had been going recently, it seemed likely.

"Right… We're supposed to be discussing that. Which reminds me, we should get going before a magic student sees us. They use the menagerie for their studies," she replied, looking focused again. She reached for her key again and slid it through the lock on the gate. Nnoitra waited for the world to go dark again, but instead, she simply walked through the gate. "Well, hurry up."

He followed her through without question and watched as she locked it again. Seemed that the key had more than one spell on it. And it also seemed that they'd left the exhibit at a good time; not a moment later, a small group of robed men and women appeared. They drifted from enclosure to enclosure with excitement while an older mage in different colored robes gave a lecture.

Feh. Mages.

"C'mon Nnoi." He felt a light tug on his sleeve as Yachiru tried to catch his attention. "You can jeer at them on your own time, we're visiting the other beasts, remember?"

Oh. Right. They were supposed to be doing that. He allowed the girl to pull him away from Androfel's enclosure and over to the next one. As they walked the cobblestone path, he began to gain an understanding of the true size of the menagerie. The exhibits were in truth more like habitats, and each creature was apportioned a plot of land sufficient in size not only to house it, but to house it comfortably. Androfel's was obviously the largest, claiming the lion's share of the space, but then, the dragon was of no mean size. He was a full-fledged legend trapped in a magical zoo. Nnoitra could relate.

The dragon stayed on his mind even as Yachiru introduced him to quite the collection of mythological monsters. There was a manticore, a hydra, a cockatrice, a pair of hippocampi, a centaur, nixes and fey creatures of varying types. The menagerie contained everything one could imagine, even creatures from far flung places like the Eastern islands. He watched the princess crouch to make casual conversation with what looked like the spawn of a turtle and a monkey, reaching into a bucket near the exhibit entrance to pick up a cucumber. The ugly thing thanked her as it accepted her offering, then disappeared back into the river that ran through its enclosure.

The amazing thing was that she seemed to be in love with them all, no matter how dangerous or hideous or, frankly, evil they were. And- equally miraculous –they all seemed to adore her in turn. He wondered what she'd done to win them over, even the ones that exuded malice or who were notorious for their man-eating ways.

It had to be magic at work. The same stealthy magic that had slipped past his defenses and gotten him to relax around the very nobility he was supposed to terminate. There were no two ways about it, and now that he was aware of it, he wouldn't be caught off guard again so easily.

"…noi? Nnoitra? Hey, are you even listening to me?"

Yachiru suddenly stopped and turned around, making obnoxious hand gestures to get his attention. To be honest, he'd started to tune her out after a while. Half the time, she was talking to some creature anyways.

"What?" he grunted.

"Tch, you weren't listening. I was just saying that maybe we should go somewhere else to have our plotting session. You know. Somewhere we won't be spied on?"

"Yeah, sure kid." He didn't have high hopes for the 'plotting session' as she called it, but he'd listen to what she had to say. Not like he had much of an option.

"Sorry, I know I keep getting distracted. But I promise, serious business now," Yachiru said.

"Great. Where're we goin'?"

"Back to Andy's enclosure. He won't mind."

Back to the dragon? _The fuck…?_

"Thought you said we were goin' somewhere no one would overhear us, princess."

"We are! Andy won't snitch. And he's got a cave further in that we can use as our base of operations. Don't you see? It's perfect! You could even train me in there later and no one would know."

"Except the dragon," Nnoitra replied.

Yachiru huffed and pouted up at him.

"I already told you, he's not a snitch. He'd love to burn Mercia to the ground actually, so I hardly think he's going to tattle on us to Szayel."

"Really now?" Hnn…

Yachiru caught his thoughtful look and shot him a bland look.

"He'd just as soon burn up Amistri too by the way, so don't get any ideas."

Tch.

"One scaly lizard couldn't take down Amistri."

"They've got magic too, in case you've forgotten. And Amistri seems to have a lack of it. Which is why you lost. You know. In case you've forgotten that too." Yachiru smirked. Oh, he was going to enjoy strangling the smug little royal when he had the chance.

"If he's so fuckin' ferocious, why don't he eat you? I thought dragons were supposed to eat princesses like you."

Yachiru blinked, looking surprised for a moment. Then she smiled. "Andy? He wouldn't hurt me. We're friends. And besides, dragons _kidnap_ princesses. They don't always eat them, not unless they're really annoying. I've already agreed to let Andy kidnap me if he ever escapes. And then we'll go on an adventure and pillage a few kingdoms and live the high life. But it probably won't happen cuz Szayel's magic barriers are pretty strong, even for a dragon as powerful as Andy."

He wasn't sure if he was serious, but he didn't bother asking. She seemed to find the idea of being kidnapped by a dragon exhilarating if her expression was anything to go by, though her version of events didn't sound much like a kidnapping. It sounded more like she'd play the part of accomplice in her own escape.

She really was such a privileged bitch.

Nnoitra allowed her to lead him back to the dragon's enclosure. They passed the magic students on the way over, who paused to goggle at the strange sight of their princess in men's clothes with a tall, lanky, one-eyed stranger. Nnoitra jeered at them and licked his lips lewdly. He earned himself some dark looks for his trouble and a giggle from the princess once they were out of earshot again.

"I wouldn't advise trying that on Szay," the girl said as she unlocked Androfel's gate and stepped in.

"An why not?" he asked, following her.

"He might just take you up on it. For a reclusive Archmage, he gets around."

"What's the story between him and the prince?"

"Oh, Szay and Ulqui?" She ushered him deeper into Androfel's exhibit before replying. "Szayel's still trying to get him down to his lair legitimately, but it's not like they haven't seen each other. Father's not ignorant, 'specially since mum's spymaster is really good at what she does, but Szay is also really good. They'd confront him about it if they could gather any hard evidence. Of course, _my _dealings with him are top secret. No one knows about them, except you."

"So who tops?"

Yachiru paused. Her brow furrowed in thought for a moment before she turned back to Nnoitra with an uncertain look.

"You know? I don't really know. I'm going to have to find that out."

Great.

"If I had to guess, I might say Szayel? Brother's got his status as a royal to uphold so it's not like he could raise a fuss about it, and Szayel seems pretty flexible when it comes to sleeping around. You know. As long as he gets what he wants in the end."

"And what would that be?"

"No one has really figured that out yet to be honest. But I doubt it's what he says he wants."

The princess came to a stop in front of Androfel, who was still curled up in his patch of sun. It had shifted during the interim of their last visit, and the dragon now slumbered in partial shadow. He rumbled a greeting as Yachiru walked up to him, but did not open his eyes. Only when she threw her arms around his neck did he speak.

"_Princess, what do you want with me?"_

"We're requesting permission to borrow your cave. Is that ok?"

_"Why should I give the Archmageling more reason to monitor me? If he learns I am abetting your schemes, he will continue to spell my enclosure more heavily."_

The princess let her cheek rest against his scales and hugged him.

"A little enchantment like that is nothing to you, Androfel. You could burn through that spell like it was parchment."

"_It is more effort than I wish to exert for little personal gain."_

"I'll come and clean your scales."

_"You'll have to offer more than that."_

"Urgh, I'll set aside time each week to play your philosophical games?"

_"Better."_

"Oh very well! I'll bring you something valuable you great, greedy jackdaw."

_"I object to being compared to a bird. I'm far more intelligent and majestic."_

"Let us use your cave whenever we want, and you have a deal. I'll retract my comparison when you stop acting like one."

"_How often will you stop by to play my games?"_

"Once a week."

_"Twice."_

"Oh please no…. I already have to listen to Szayel as it is." Yachiru's face twisted into an mask of exquisite suffering at the mere prospect. Androfel seemed unimpressed by her theatrics, but relented.

"_Very well, once a week. But it will be for a duration of my choosing."_

"I have obligations you know," she whined.

_"Obligations that you are clearly engaging in at this moment."_

"Oh stuff it, Andy. But fine. Once a week for as long as you want."

Yachiru pursed her lips and straightened again. Androfel's mouth curled back, exposing rows of thick, yellowed fangs in what Nnoitra could only presume was the dragon's version of a smile.

"_Remember princess, you promised me something valuable. You'd best live up to your promise."_

"Yeah ok. Whatever. I'll bring you something later. C'mon Nnoi, let's go."

She grabbed Nnoitra's wrist and towed him past Androfel. Once they were inside the cave, she let go of him and threw up her hands dramatically.

"Ach! He is so frustrating to bargain with!"

"And you're remarkably bad at it, princess," Nnoitra replied, glancing around the cave. They weren't very far in yet, and it was starting to get a little dark. With such dim lighting, it wasn't exactly the ideal place to train someone as inexperienced as the princess. Just when he thought he might have to drag the kid back out, the quality of light began to change. It turned from a velvety sort of darkness to a soft gray, then a warm orange as they finally entered a large central room lit by burning sconces. Finally, a proper flame. Then again, the sconces didn't seem to have a fuel source so…

Fuck it. Did everything in this kingdom run on magic?

The treasure pile in the center of the cave was nowhere near the size he'd imagined of a dragon hoard, but then, Androfel didn't exactly get many opportunities to get out and add to it. Come to think of it… Nnoitra wondered why the dragon had a hoard at all. Yachiru couldn't have possibly contributed the whole amount. It wasn't gargantuan like a proper hoard, but it wasn't small either. Guess the Mercians were wealthy enough to let their pet dragon have his own pile of gems and gold to sleep on. Gods, that was just obscene.

Yachiru tugged him away from it before finally letting go of his wrist.

"No touching. He'll know. And then there'll be no convincing him not to eat you," she said.

"I wasn't gonna," Nnoitra grumbled. She caught his eye and shook her head.

"No," she said again, then sat down cross-legged on the bare cave floor. "So, how to keep you alive in big bad Mercia."

Finally. _Finally_. It was almost too much to hope for. Nnoitra sat down across from her, ignoring how ridiculous this whole situation was. Trading gossip with a little merchant princess in the middle of a dragon's cave.

"Hm… where to start. You already know Ulqui and Szay better'n most people get to know them. That's not good. And Mother and Father will have you killed just as soon as it's convenient to arrange an accident. I estimate that you have a few months before that happens. Maybe four or five? Something along those lines."

"Four or five months don't matter, princess. In four or five months, I'll be a dead man to Amistri anyways. They'll send someone else."

"Yes I _know_, that's why they'll have you killed _then_. But if you're a dead man, you might as well make the best use of the time that you have. And you don't really want to die, Nnoitra. Not like this."

"Tch…" But it was true. He didn't want to die a political death. He wanted to die on the battlefield, covered in the blood of his enemies and choking on his own like a warrior of Amistri should.

"But anyways, that's not the biggest threat right now. The biggest threat is… well, probably Szayel. He's the one that has a curse on you, and he's the only one that can break it."

"I know, princess. I'm not stupid," Nnoitra interrupted. She frowned at him.

"You didn't let me finish. Szayel is the only one who can break it, _but_ there may be someone who can help you get to Szay. He's the only person in Amistri that has leverage over him."

Someone with dirt on the Archmage? Now this he wanted to hear. Nnoitra raised an eyebrow.

"Do continue."

"Exceeeept he's probably the scariest guy in the whole country aside from Szayel."

… Of fucking course.

"But if you can put up with him, you could probably figure out a way to break your curse. And then it wouldn't really matter what you had to go through to get there because if you can take out the Archmage, you can take out everyone else."

Nnoitra closed his eye and drug a hand down his face. When he opened it again, he was more or less prepared to take whatever information came next.

"Ok. So who is this man?"

"Mayuri Kurotsuchi. He's an alchemist from the Eastern islands, and probably the only person Szayel can't legitimately threaten. Actually his lair is sort of near Szayel's, though it's more underneath the central part of the palace. He hardly ever comes out, except when Father summons him. But I like to visit him sometimes. He has the most precious sphinx guarding his library. You should meet her some time. She's very clever and beautiful."

"Fucking hell… you want me to talk to that creep?"

"Oh, you've met him?"

"Not personally, no. But I sure as hell remember the destruction he was responsible for."

Nnoitra shuddered at the memory. Fires that wouldn't go out. A haze of dust that burned on contact. Explosive devices that blew men apart, blinded the eyes, and deafened the ears. There were other horrors, things he didn't want to think about. Like that creeping cloud of poison he'd unleashed towards the end of the war. Magic was one thing. But this wasn't magic, which for the most part had no moral wrong or right. This was designed from the outset to kill painfully. This was a new type of warfare. The man was a monster as surely as Szayel was.

"Oh, yeah. You really don't want to be on his bad side, though his good side is not much better. Szay, he's kinda playful when he likes you. It's all a great big game to him, probably because he doesn't age, so he's got all the time in the world to be awful. Mayuri? He gets down to business fast. If you catch his interest, he's all over you. No preamble. You'll end up like his daughter by the end of it, or worse."

"His daughter?"

"Oh, yes. Nemu. Well…." Yachiru trailed off, looking slightly disturbed, "I mean, don't get me wrong. She's a very sweet girl. But she's just… um… you'll see."

Nnoitra leaned away, eye narrowed.

"And you want me to visit him."

"He's the only person I can think of who can help you."

"Fuck… And you visit him willingly?"

"Well I mean he can't do anything to me because I'm nobility and also I fetch him reagents sometimes so I'm mostly in his good graces. But yeah. In my defense he has a really _really_ cool lab. Sometimes he makes me things to get me to go away. And like I mentioned, he has the loveliest sphinx. And Nemu is very kind too. And you know, sometimes I think she could do with a little company even if she's odd. And she helps out with some of my schemes when she's not busy. And-"

"Got it," Nnoitra growled, cutting her off. She had a tendency to babble, and he had the impression that she would have gone on much longer if he'd let her. "Any advice on how to avoid attractin' his interest too?"

"Well, that's the problem. You kind of do have to get him interested in you, otherwise he'll just ignore you and you'll never figure out what you need to. But since you're Ulqui's body guard, he probably won't do anything too horrible to you."

"Wonderful." Fan-fucking-tastic. "That's real helpful."

"I'll write you a letter of recommendation if you want. That should help things along," Yachiru offered. Nnoitra just shook his head. He was done with all these twisty politics. He just wanted to cut someone's head off already.

"Look, princess, ya got any advice for me that doesn't involve getting dosed with drugs or fucked with?"

"Sure. Don't be such a prick for starters. Or at least don't be so obvious about it. I can set you up with people, but you're the one who has to take it from there. You're the one who's gonna make or break your own success," she replied pertly.

"Any other words of wisdom?"

"Yep. Trust me." She beamed up at him, a little pink headed imp in boy's clothing. Then slowly, she extended a hand. "Friends?"

Nnoitra stared at it, fighting the desire to sneer, and reluctantly clasped her hand in his and gave it a terse shake.

"Friends." The word caught in his throat, but he managed to force it out somehow. There. Let it not be said that he wasn't a goddamn _diplomat_ when circumstances called for diplomacy. He deserved a metal for not laughing.

Yachiru made a high pitched sound of delight and promptly threw her arms around him in the most enthusiastic hug he'd ever received.

"Eeee this is going to be so much fun!"

Nnoitra inhaled sharply and stiffened.

No hurting any of the nobles. He couldn't hurt any of the nobles. Hurting the nobles meant dying very quickly. And if he had to die hurting a noble, he might as well be strategic about it. The princess was not a good target to waste his life on. Patience. He had to be patient.

Yachiru finally let go, and Nnoitra relaxed, though he could feel a few facial muscles twitching with restraint still. The princess took one look at him and giggled.

"Hehehe, you look like someone shoved a stick up your butt. Anyways, we've still got stuff to do today. You really have to go get fitted for some more outfits, and then I'll give you a tour of the rest of the palace grounds and write up a list of important things you should know. And you have homework too. You have to figure out a training regimen for me. And then we can write up a schedule. Oh! And we can organize a secret communication system to pass notes quickly, but we have to be clever about it because mum's spymaster is pretty good. But I'm going to be better, you'll see."

She stood and waited for him to rise before picking her way back up through the cave. Nnoitra made a face, but followed her. Kid acted like he was a puppy to be led around everywhere she pleased. Well, not forever. But he'd be damned if he had to tolerate any more hugs from her. He was putting his foot down on hugging. The handholding and constant nattering was bad enough.

"Hey princess."

"Yeah?"

"No hugs."

Another giggle, though to her credit, she tried to muffle this one.

"Sure thing, Nnoi."

… Nnoi.

Fuck. How long had she been calling him that and he hadn't noticed?

_Fucking magic._

Nnoitra growled under his breath and stalked after her. He was never going to get used to this shit.

* * *

**A/N:** When did I put the last chapter up even? *Checks* Oh geez, July of last year. Wow. Yes. This fic was definitely due for an update and I am very sorry it took so long. I'm pretty sure I started this chapter months ago and only now just finished it.

Have some fluff. In fact, have all the fluff. All of it. Cotton candy nauseating fluff.

I have no regrets.

Actually, I do have one. I only realized that the door thing was somewhat similar to the door thing in Howl's Moving Castle after I wrote it. But the concept is different enough that I'm just going to shrug it off. Because this isn't being published for money, so no one can try to sue me for intellectual infringement or something. Yeah.

Weeeee, oh one last thing. Please don't send me anon reviews. I really hate that FFN has now automated anon reviews and I can't figure out how to turn them off :c I just really want to talk to you guys and when you leave me anon reviews it means I can't stalk you and say hello and thank you for your kind words /sobs

That's all for now folks. See you in the next update, whenever that may be.


	8. Figures of Interest

He was nearing his limit. Give him a weapon and send him off into war, and he could last days without approaching this level of fatigue. But this work sapped him. He was so close to calling off any sort of alliance with the little brat simply because he didn't know if he could stand her long enough to carry out the mission without throttling her. Silence was a concept wasted on the princess, and he'd been exposed to more than his fair share of giggling that day.

Her saving grace was her usefulness. Turned out she really knew her way around the place like she'd promised. There was an intricate network of hidden passages that wound through the interior of the palace. It must have taken her years to discover them all, but for an inquisitive young woman with little else to do, seeking them out had likely become an obsession. Some of them appeared to be in use by servants as shortcuts. Many of them were thick with dust and for the most part undisturbed aside from the princess' footsteps. They were too numerous to memorize in a single trip, but he got the feeling that was the idea. The girl still had a preservation instinct, even if it was underdeveloped.

She introduced him to several figures of interest that day. There was the royal tailor (who seemed far too young for the job) and the head of the medical staff (who didn't seem nearly as old as his white hair would suggest). The former greeted him with a critical commentary on his appearance before taking his measurements; the latter only acknowledged them long enough to reach into his pocket, produce a wrapped sweet for the princess, and shunt them out of his office.

Their meanderings took them outside of the palace proper as well. She brought him to the Mercian library, a building with arched ceilings of marble and endless rows of burnished mahogany bookshelves. There were desks for people to sit and study at, all funded by the nobility. The public was even allowed to take books out of the building, provided they had a slip that granted them permission. How lucky they were, living in a country where literacy was a right and not a privilege. The whole place made his stomach churn.

There was another level of the library not open to the public eye, however, and it was there in the lamp-lit, underground archives that he met the head librarian. He wasn't sure at first why the princess was keen to introduce them. The man wasn't much to look at; fairly tall, with pale brown hair and chocolate eyes. Ordinary. He extended his hand to shake at the princess' prodding to "be polite."

The man just smiled.

"I'm afraid I can't return your greetings. The princess should know better."

"Oh! Oh dear, please forgive me Aaron. I'm sorry, I can be so forgetful."

The librarian's smile widened a little before he turned back to his work.

"You're many things, princess, but forgetful isn't one of them."

As soon as they were well out of eyeshot- and earshot -she drew a line across her throat and made a face.

"That's Aaroniero Aruruerie," she whispered, "Hardest name to pronounce ever, I swear. Anyways, that thing about not shaking your hand? He claims it's gimpy, so he never shakes anyone's hand. But someone once told me that he used to work at the palace, and that his hand wasn't always crippled."

"His hand seemed fine to me."

"That's his right hand," Yachiru explained, "He's originally left handed. Says that it would be improper to shake with his non-weapon hand. So he won't shake with his right, but he can't shake with his left. Therefore, he doesn't shake anyone's hand at all."

"But that doesn't make any sense. He's not a fighter. In his case, it's purely symbolic. And if his left hand is gimpy, then his right hand automatically becomes his 'weapon' hand."

"He's a librarian. It's like his job to be weird and nitpicky about historical details. Anyways, you're missing the big picture."

Nnoitra shrugged. "So what, he's a freak and a cripple. What's there to talk about?"

The princess looked like she was on the verge of having a conniption.

"I heard he tried to steal something from Szayel once, and that's how his hand ended up that way."

Huh. That... was a little more interesting. But it was still nothing more than hearsay.

"Rumors are rumors, princess," he said.

She shook her head emphatically.

"I don't think this one is. I think that's why he's no longer at the palace. I think that's why he's working here."

"Look," Nnoitra drawled, "If he tried ta fuck with Szayel, then he'd be dead. Or out of his mind. One of the two. He'd be more'n crippled."

"That's just the thing though. It's rumored he's crazy. Cracked. Touched in the head. Some of the librarians have told me that they've heard him talk to himself. Whole conversations, though they're never close enough to make out what he's saying exactly."

"So."

"So?"

"So supposing he did try to steal from Szayel… that still don't answer the question of why he's not dead."

"Right. Why isn't he?" Her eyes sparkled.

And suddenly he realized why she'd insisted he meet him. Because anyone who managed to piss Szayel off and not end up as fertilizer for his garden was worth knowing about.

"Oh," he said.

Yachiru bounced and clapped her hands delightedly.

"Yes yes yes! Finally! Thought you'd never get it. Gosh, you can be so slow Nnoi."

"Yeah, fuck you."

She lifted her chin and gave him a scandalized look.

"Why Nnoitra, must I remind you that you are in the presence of royalty?"

"Pfff. Kid, if you bothered to act like royalty, I might actually pretend to kiss your ass. But seeing as you're nothing more than a scrawny little brat in boy's clothing, I don't think you've got the right to demand I treat you like a princess."

"I bet you're just as rude to your king," she said, dropping the insulted act and returning to their usual banter. Except Nnoitra didn't respond in kind this time.

"No. Never," he said.

"Never?" Clearly not the answer she'd expected. Yachiru frowned.

"He is my king. He is a capable warrior in his own right. I would not show him disrespect," Nnoitra replied.

"So that's the only way to earn your respect? Power?"

"Real power. I don't give a shit about inherited power. The status quo exists to be upset. But if you can hold onto it with your own strength despite the odds, that's something worth respecting."

"Well, by that logic, you should respect us. Amistri invaded us, and we beat you. We defeated the most renowned military state in the world, and we don't even have a standing army. That seems worthy of respect," Yachiru insisted.

Nnoitra clenched his hands. Like hell he'd respect the Mercians. There were things about the merchant nation that he could appreciate now. They weren't as benign as they appeared at first glance, and despite their lack of a military, they had good organization. But he'd never, ever bring himself to acknowledge their victory as anything but a farce.

"Magic is not strength. It's a crutch," he bit out.

This seemed to irritate her, for she stopped and turned on him. She planted her hands on her hips and stared him straight in the eye, though she had to crane her head to do so.

"Magic is too a strength. It's another way to fight. You just refuse to use it. You deny the advantage it could give you in battle, and for what? So you can uphold some sort of stupid honor driven hierarchy?"

"It's not stupid."

"You lost. It's stupid. That's all there is to it."

"Take that back."

"No. You're all acting like a bunch of whiny, spoilt children just because you didn't win for once. You're just afraid of change."

"You'd call Amistri childish? You'd call us childish when you sent untrained civilians into a war zone to die? How irresponsible is that?"

"We pulled in favors and hired as many mercenaries as we could. We didn't just throw our people to the dogs. And in any case, what other choice did we have?"

"Surrender," Nnoitra growled, "Become part of Amistri. Supply us with technology and resources in exchange for protection."

"But would you protect us from yourselves? Would you let us maintain our culture? Or would you militarize us and turn us into another recruitment ground for your army? Would you use up all our resources to wage your endless wars? Would you let us teach our citizens to read and encourage learning, or would that be deemed a waste of money?"

"Do you ever stop yapping?" He snapped, and before he realized what he was doing, his hand was wrapped up in the front of her shirt and he had her pinned against the wall. She gasped a little as her head hit the marble and cracked against it.

It took him a moment before he understood just how badly he'd fucked up, but his first clue was the burning sensation in his body that quickly intensified to a searing pain. Nnoitra panted, knees locking as he only just managed to keep himself from crumpling into a fetal position. It was like his blood had been replaced with boiling oil. And his head… as if mirroring the princess' injury, it felt like someone had driven an axe into the back of his skull.

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck _fuck._ He'd fucking promised himself he wouldn't die for stupid shit like this. But his vision was blurring and his ears were ringing and his knees were giving up on him and his lungs and heart both felt like they were going to explode… and then he felt a pair of mercifully cool hands cup his face and the terrible heat began to abate. He opened his eye to see Yachiru standing in front of him, looking very intense. She let go of him and took a step back once he seemed stable again, and Nnoitra wiped the sweat out of his eye shakily.

Then he promptly keeled over with a strangled cry as she kicked him in the groin.

"Don't you _ever_ handle me like that again you piece of shit, or next time I will let you die!" she yelled.

Nnoitra writhed on the floor, only vaguely registering her threat. Yachiru continued to fume for another minute before she finally plopped down next to him. A poisonous silence followed, broken only by his muffled groans. When he managed to pull himself together at last, he found her sitting with her knees tucked against her chest and staring sourly off into space.

"Princess-"

She stopped him with a look.

"If it's not an apology, I don't want to hear it," she said.

"Are you alright?"

"No. You smacked my head into the wall. It really hurts. In fact, I think it's bleeding a little."

Shit. Not good. That was going to draw some attention. Attention meant questions. Questions meant answers. Answers meant he'd get his ass thrown in a cell or killed for harming the Mercian princess.

"You're a real bastard, Nnoitra," she continued.

"An' yer just figurin' that out now?" he spat.

"No, but I thought you'd be better at controlling yourself."

"Been doing that all day, girly. You're enough to drive anyone up the wall."

"Don't blame this on me. You're the one who messed up." She gave him a pointed look. And she was right, of course. As annoying as she was, he was the one who'd lost his temper and jeopardized his mission. He was the fuck up.

He slammed a fist into the floor, frustrated with his own incompetence.

"So now what, princess? You're bleeding from a head injury I gave you. What happens next?"

She shrugged and looked away.

"I already told you. Now you tell me."

She'd already told him? No she hadn't. She hadn't told him jack shit. Except… to apologize? Was that seriously what she wanted?

"You want an apology?"

"Yes."

"Is that it?"

"Yes, Nnoitra. That's it. Just one sincere apology."

Ha. That was easy enough.

… except he didn't apologize. Ever.

"Sorry, princess." It was dry. Terse.

She arched a skeptical eyebrow at him, unimpressed. Not good enough.

"Er… I'm sorry for bashing your head into the wall."

"Yes, I imagine you probably are. It's caused you a world of trouble. Try again, Nnoi."

Fuck. Nnoitra growled to himself and tried to dredge up a sliver of sincerity. Did he feel bad for shoving her? Not really. She deserved it. She was a pest. And therein lay the problem. He couldn't actually apologize.

She knew it too. He could see it in her eyes. She knew it. This was her version of revenge.

"I can't do it. You know I fucking can't."

"Yeah," she said, and uncurled, "I know."

"So we gonna keep playin' this game?"

"Of course. But for the moment, I'll cut you some slack." She stood, then extended a hand to help him up. He took it, if only because he knew it would mollify her a little. And it did. She smiled faintly.

"I wouldn't mind hearing you try one more time though."

"I am not sorry for what I did," Nnoitra groused, "But I will avoid it in the future because I would not like to die killing you."

"Yes, yes. I know. I'm not worth dying for." She punched his shoulder. "Okay can you at least try not to be such an ass about that? Pretend I'm like a prince or something."

"You still wouldn't be the crown prince. So unless yer brother suddenly dies, killin' you would still be pretty pointless."

"Just think. If I was crown prince, you'd be my body guard."

That was a horrifying thought. Nnoitra suppressed a shudder.

"Princess, if you were the crown prince, I'd be hard pressed not to murder you- Amistri be damned."

"Well, I guess it's a good thing we're co-conspirators instead, huh?"

"Hardly. We're not conspiring towards the same goal."

She contemplated this for a moment, then shrugged and set off again. They were near the stairwell that led back up to the library proper.

"It's true. I'm ultimately trying to foil your plans to kill my family and invade my country. But in the meantime, you're trying to stay alive, and I'm trying to help you stay alive so you can help me. So we are conspiring towards the same goal in the short term; your survival."

"Until it is no longer convenient for you to keep me alive."

"But Nnoitra, if you were the one in a position of power, you'd kill me in a heartbeat. It's only fair."

She reached up to touch the lump on the back of her head. After inspecting her bloody fingertips, she sucked them clean and made an effort to muss her hair and cover up the injury. It was still pretty noticeable, especially from his angle. "Really, don't do that again," Yachiru said as they began to climb.

"Yeah," he agreed. Yeah, he wouldn't be making that mistake again. "So what are we going to do about the head injury?"

"I really don't want to owe Szayel any more favors, even though he could probably fix this up real quick. So actually, I'm going to pay Ryuu a visit."

"Ryuu?"

"Ryuuken Ishida. You know. He gave me a candy when we visited him earlier."

Oh. The medic. The one whose disapproval he could feel the instant he set foot in his office, even if the man hadn't said more than three words to him.

"Are you sure he's… uh… the best man to go to?"

"Ryuuken is very professional. Besides, I'm always getting into scrapes."

"Doesn't your father find that concerning?"

"If he's aware of it, he hasn't commented on it. So it's not an issue."

Strange. Byakuya didn't seem like the oblivious type. He must have been aware of her habit of courting danger. Heh… actually, that was pretty apt. She seemed drawn to dangerous things, himself included.

"Still, I think it's best if I don't show up in his office with you, princess."

"Oh, certainly not," she replied, looking surprised that he'd even suggest such a thing. "I'll be dropping you off in your room. You're supposed to be sick, remember? It wouldn't do to taunt mother's spymaster too much. She gets a bit sensitive, especially where I'm involved."

He could only imagine how the queen's spymaster must have felt. Keeping tabs on the princess was a job unto itself. It couldn't have been easy, keeping track of a young woman who was capable of transporting anywhere with a door that she could visualize.

"So, we takin' another one of those… shadow walks?"

"Yes. Now hush a moment, there's the door at the top of the stairwell. I want to get out of the library without drawing any attention."

They crept up the remainder of the stairs and lingered in front of the door that led out of the underground vaults while Yachiru fished out her key. It was convenient that they wouldn't have to cross the library proper and find a more visible door. They had nothing to worry about unless one of the library staff happened to open the door at that moment. Considering his luck, it was a real possibility. But their escape went without a hitch, and he soon found himself walking through the lightless gloom of the shadow path.

It was a little more tolerable than it had been the first time. He knew what to expect and what the rules were. But he could never fully relax. There was a wrongness to this dimension. He was certain it wasn't a place humans were meant to set foot. Nnoitra had the constant sense that at any moment, the magic giving them access to this place could fail and they would be swallowed up by the darkness forever. Perhaps it was just paranoia. If given the chance, he'd use this magic without a second thought, but it still unnerved him.

A door finally materialized out of the blackness, and Yachiru led him up to it, never once letting go of his hand while she unlocked it. She held it for him again, though she didn't step out with him into his room.

"I'll find you later, Nnoi. We really do have to set up some sort of messaging system. I'll see what I can do about that. In the meantime, have fun figuring stuff out!" She grinned at him, then closed the door and vanished. It seemed that her spunk had returned. Even a knock to the head couldn't keep her down for long.

Ha. Haha. Hahaha…. fuck. Nnoitra shuffled over to his bed and flopped on his back. He'd come so close to messing up beyond repair. Because if he'd done the same thing to literally anyone else, he wouldn't be alive right now.

He dragged a hand down his face and exhaled heavily. Alright. He didn't know how much time he had until Ulquiorra came to fetch him. He had to figure out a way to talk to Kurotsuchi without ending up in pieces. He should probably try to figure out a way to interrogate the head librarian too. Aaron-something. Maybe he'd do that if things didn't pan out with Kurotsuchi. But the alchemist seemed like a good bet. According to Yachiru, Kurotsuchi had dirt on Szayel, and that was good enough for him.

Then there were his other obligations. The princess wanted him to train her. He had to put together some sort of training regimen for her that would satisfy her. He had no doubt that she'd be harassing him to jump straight into swordplay, but she'd have to fucking deal with the fact that she was too weak to lift a proper sword and she'd just trip and impale herself if she tried. Did the curse count it against him if one of the nobles accidentally killed themselves? Well, even if it didn't, the rest of her family would make sure he paid for it. So Yachiru could whine all she wanted, but she was going to have to do some strength and endurance training first.

And then there were outfits to pick up from the royal tailor and important people to schmooze and secret tunnels to memorize and some sort of secret communication system to hash out with the princess. Nnoitra groaned and turned over. No. Fuck this. He was too tired to deal with any of this right now. Until the prince came and dragged him out of his room, he was staying in bed and making the most of the rest of his "sick day."

He was left in peace until dinner. At that point in time, he was woken up by the same servant who'd come to fetch him earlier that day. He stared her down when he opened the door. She lingered long enough to deliver the royal family's orders to attend the evening meal since their poison taster was still out of commission, then promptly turned on her heel and left before he could deliver any verbal abuse. Nnoitra shut the door sullenly and went back to his bed to lie down, but after a few minutes, he hauled himself back up and slunk down to the dining hall to do his diplomatic duty.

Dinner was sumptuous. Spiced lamb stew over rice, tender roast chicken with gravy, potato mash with garlic and rosemary and butter, a veritable panoply of fruits, delicately sautéed spears of asparagus and mushrooms, freshly baked bread rolls, decanters of wine and juices … far too much for a family of four, plus one poison taster. He wondered what happened to the rest of the food and sincerely hoped that it wasn't wasted. He'd mostly recovered from his experience with Szayel the previous evening, and having missed breakfast and lunch, was now ravenous. Not even the prospect that the food might be poisoned was enough to deter him from serving himself a little of everything and digging in, though he did find himself avoiding the lamb stew. Ordinarily, it would have appealed to him, but it was still a bit too rich for his stomach to tolerate.

When the royals had finished their meal, the remaining food was taken away and replaced by a small assortment of desserts. The princess, who had eaten a modest plate of food, eyed the pastries with an expression of devout longing. She met his eye, and a silent order passed between them. No matter how full he was, he must sample each and every confection on the table. Nnoitra sank a little in his chair. They had their protective charms. Couldn't they leave him alone? He'd filled up on dinner, stupidly forgetting to anticipate that something else would follow. But no. He knew that look in the princess' eye. There was no getting out of this.

The desserts were rich and sweet; the bakers knew their princess well. Nnoitra felt ill by the time he finished consuming each little tidbit- cream puff, a spoonful of custard, strawberry cheesecake, dense chocolate torte, a section of a miniature berry pie, a chocolate that melted as soon as it hit his tongue. Once they were assured that it was natural nausea and the desserts were clean, the others served themselves. Yachiru in particular dove in with zeal. It made sense now why she'd picked over the main course; she'd been saving room for this. It was kind of sickening to watch her eat so many sweets when he just wanted to leave and sleep it all off. Still, he stuck around until he was officially dismissed by Ulquiorra. The prince seemed as indifferent towards him as he'd been in the morning. Good. Looked like he was going to get off lucky for now.

His room was cold again by the time he returned to it. The hearth in his room was dead, and for once, he kind of regretted not having let the maid kindle it. But he wasn't about to pander to an uppity bitch, so he settled in front of the fireplace and began to relight it and painstakingly coax it to life. When it was strong enough to burn stable, he lugged himself over to the bed, shucked off his boots, and slid under the chilly covers. This time, he crossed his fingers that he wouldn't be interrupted until morning.

-.-.-.-.-.-

Miraculously, he slept the whole night through. It was the dawn and not the maid who woke him, though she didn't put in an appearance to speak of that morning. That suited him just fine. He rolled out of bed and took a swig of cold water from his pitcher, then went to go fix his appearance. He'd fallen asleep in his clothes the night before, and they were now creased and disheveled. He smoothed some of the rumples out in front of a mirror, but he knew the prince wasn't going to find this acceptable. Heh. Well, that was Ulquiorra's problem. Not like Nnoitra had many changes of clothes at the moment. He took another minute to strap on his gear and weaponry- most of it concealed all nice and proper to cater to the nobles' sensibilities –then sauntered down the hall to collect his charge.

Just like before, the prince was already up, though he was fully dressed by the time Nnoitra entered since he was running a little late this morning. Ulquiorra's eyes lifted from the book he was reading just long enough to narrow slightly at what they saw.

"Your clothes are a wretched affair."

"My sincerest apologies. I'm waiting on replacements," Nnoitra replied, managing to keep a straight face somehow.

Ulquiorra made a dismissive sound, closing his book and setting it aside.

"Indeed. For all that you were indisposed yesterday, you managed to find the time to make an appointment with the royal tailor."

"Just seeing to the necessities. Wouldn't want to offend your royal sensibilities with the dismal state of my fashion."

"Care to explain how accompanying the princess counts as a necessity?"

A muscle in Nnoitra's jaw twitched. Just how tuned in to palace affairs were this lot?

"My company was requested. It's not my place to turn down a command from someone who outranks me."

Ulquiorra's eyes bored into his one, and in them, he saw the same darkness he'd encountered at the inn. His skin prickled at the sudden shift in mood, hands unconsciously moving for his weapons before he caught himself and forced them back down to his sides.

"I will make myself perfectly clear this once, Gilga. I do not approve of your consorting with my sister. If I find this becoming something habitual, there will be consequences. You are my bodyguard, not her playmate. Do we have an understanding?"

Fuck. Just like that, the prince had slipped another verbal noose around his throat. His hands were already tied. Yachiru wasn't going to let him off the hook. Girl had plans, and he featured in them. But playing along with her schemes meant bad things for him if Ulquiorra found out.

"I hear ya," he said through gritted teeth. Ulquiorra held his gaze a few beats longer, then his expression settled back into its usual frozen countenance.

"You will accompany me to my lessons today. I will grant you no leisure time since you had an entire day off yesterday. However, since I have no particular desire to spend every second of my day around uncultured trash like you, tomorrow may be a different matter depending on your performance."

Ulquiorra rose. The conversation was over. Whatever reply Nnoitra had prepared died on his lips as the prince passed him. He swallowed the low growl building in his chest and followed him. He had a _performance_ to ace if he ever wanted to murder this upstart.

* * *

**A/N: **So I've actually been searching for this chapter because I could not find it in my fic folder or on any of my flash drives and I did not want to rewrite it. Turns out it somehow made its way into the recycling bin. Whoops. Good thing I never clean that thing out. Like everything I write, this chapter is long overdue. Y'all are masochists for following my stories. I'm a masochist for not dropping them. Let's suffer together I guess. Thank you for reading.

As ever, I dedicate this chapter to Xylexia, for whom this fic was originally written. Sorry I couldn't get a chapter to you for your birthday. Special mention also goes to Ryoko for being my Bleach muse. It's likely I'd take even longer to put things up without your inspiration. Have some heckled Nnoitra as a thank you.


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